Julie R. Neidlinger: Lone Prairie Art Works

Things that sting.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 4 comments link this post

Blogger acquaintance Gene and I have had a few interesting interactions via email as of late over a specific post. One concept that I am seeing consistently mentioned on his blog is that of the porcupine analogy. As I said in a comment on this post:

I think you're obsessed with the porcupine analogy. There might be other explanations.

Sometimes things in nature sting because they are being unnecessarily pestered.

It can go both ways. My advice, since this seems to be the post for it, is to learn to understand when the sting is deserved or not.

Certainly, helping someone may bring a negative reaction, even if you do good. Hence, the correct usage of the porcupine analogy -- helping a porcupine across a busy street and getting a barbed quill as a thank you for it -- that Gene outlines in that post.

The reason it is important to understand what correct analogy you are dealing with is because sometimes, you deserve the sting. If you don't know how to identify when that is, you're veering toward a bit of "I'm Right'ism." It becomes some sort of equation where all negative reaction from people is a reflection of them instead of you.

In that email exchange, in which I admonished Gene that some of his recent advice to me wasn't necessarily useful, beneficial, or even based in a knowledge of all facts, I may have unleashed my sharp tongue. I know I have one. He responded that he was still picking the "quill of of [his] reddened flesh."

This annoyed me. It wasn't the correct analogy, and again seemed to say, subtly, "I'm right, and giving right advice, and now I'm a bit of a martyr but I'll suffer because I know I'm right and being helpful to you" where, in my mind, the truth was much easier: You're wrong, your advice is ill-conceived and not born of all necessary facts, and I'm going to correct you on that.

Advice should never be one-way. In my mind, the barb was deserved, if indeed, it really was a barb.

My email of reprimand to you is less evidence of porcupine quills in me and more evidence of you needing to learn how to take what you dish out with the same amounts of confidence you originally wrote it in. I do not see a prickly person in what I wrote but instead, someone evenly trying to tell you that you were mistaken and that you need to back off.

[...]

You shouldn't confuse a woman defending herself, or disagreeing with you, as evidence of prickles.

I apply this in reverse to myself, at times, and to anyone. We need to learn to know when the stings are deserved or undeserved. Receipt of a sting is not proof of being a martyr. As I said in an another, related email to Gene:

Sometimes, when you get hate mail (as you proudly hinted at in your post, as if it were a badge of honor), it isn't because you took the narrow road, but just because you're being a jerk and deserve it.

I don't think Gene is a jerk. But I don't think I'm a porcupine, either.

Things "sting" for all kinds of reasons. Salt on wounds. Bees. Porcupines. Rattlesnakes. Poison sumac. Figure out why it stings and whether you deserve it or not.

Labels: blogging, essay, observations

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Today's Mail: Rhetorical question #4.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

Q. Do humans have a love affair with the irrational?

A. The assumption is that I can speak for humans, since I must be one. Or, that I know anything about love affairs.

I do know irrational.

My first thought path from this question took me down the over-wrought over-though way of deciding that the rational was too hard and difficult for the human mind to grasp since we are irrational beings, so we therefore deemed the rational to be the irrational, making the irrational the rational. And in that way, made ourselves out to be rational.

I'm not sure this is incorrect. Sometimes, the "rational" thinking of today makes very little sense. Which actually makes sense, since the rational tends to disparage the senses as a way of determining its validity. In that way, the rational does not make sense nor can it be determined by sense.

From where it comes, I don't know. The human mind, I guess, which is as fallible as anything.

So, after all that, I decided to answer just for myself and boldly say that yes, I am in love with the irrational. It makes sense.

Labels: clippings, essay, today's mail

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I have a dream.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 2 comments link this post

That's what I have, mostly. Dreams.

This weekend I got to talking with friends and the comment was made that one friend felt he had lots of goals, but no dreams.That made me stop and think. For the first time, something became clear to me. I joked that I have no goals, only dreams (which is true and what I'm going to talk about), but I really wasn't joking.

Later that same day, a woman was pressing me with questions about flying lessons, seemingly insistent on knowing what I was going to "do" with it once I got a private pilot's license. It seemed to me that it bothered her that I didn't have an planned end result, and that my answer of "I don't know. We'll see. I just want to do this now" was not acceptable.

What a huge difference is the end result of a person who is goal-oriented versus one who is dream-oriented.

I make to-do lists. I have lists of things to change and accomplish which are, in a sense, small goals. I do not, however, have Goals. Capital "G" goals. I have Dreams, though, and I seem to focus on that.

Dreams are messy. Dreams are the things you're working towards that require years of nebulous efforts that seem unconnected and makes little sense to people around you. Dreams are the things that have no answer to the question of "what are you doing?" or "what do you hope to do with this?" Questions like those the dreamer absolutely dreads. Dreams are fragile, and a person has to be careful who she shares them with lest it end up being a pearls-before-swine moment in which the dream seems silly and more valuable in the discard pile than in pursuance. Dreams are what keep life from being monotonous, are what really stretch our courage and faith and daring.

Goals make sense. They are calculable. They are often orderly, and follow in a logic step process. People understand goals, generally, and know what to do with them when you describe them. Goals have an answer to the "what are you doing?" or "what do you hope to do with this?" questions. They have a foundation and an order and a progression. They can be checked off a list, and you know when you've arrived at a goal and when to move on to the next. Goals are what keeps a life from becoming an excuse-ridden slide into lethargic non-action.

I have lots of dreams, but so few goals. It's a poor combination for a person who is supposedly running her own business. It explains my lack of direction or way of getting to the dreams. Goals are kind of like the engine that runs the car that gets you to your dreams. It explains the appearance, maybe, of adult underachieverhood. On the other hand, I've never felt hemmed in, trapped, regretful of the things I've not tried or attempted...dreamers tend to have a different set of problems than the average goal-oriented person. Life is always a kind of exciting "what next?" existence, never plodding. I've never felt owned or that I've settled for something less. Everything feels like a creative, wide-open opportunity. An adventure.

Goals and dreams. It's important to have both. If you lack one or the other, your life is either too abstract and you wallow in confusion and non-direction, or you are over-structured and hemmed in and controlled only by the possible. One has a planned outcome, and the other leaves the door free and wide open for possibility.

We need both the chase of the impossible, and the structure and method that helps us get there.

Labels: essay, friends

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A few things learned.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

This weekend, over the course of the days and various activities, I learned a few things:

1. There is a fine line between being polite or inquisitive, and being nosy. However, once that line is crossed, the divide suddenly becomes screamingly clear. There are certain questions you don't ask people in casual chatting conversation (particularly if you don't know them well), and when you start to get evasive answers and the person (in this case, me) makes an excuse to get away from you, take the hint.

2. At first, after a shocking, ripping change in life, things that are merely different are seen as bad or sub-quality. The way it was before change always seems better, right, and proper. In time, hopefully, we are able to differentiate between what is merely different and what really is lesser.

3. Goals are not the same as dreams. This is something I plan on blogging about later, but the understanding of the difference explains a lot to me all of a sudden.

4. The voice of a constant complainer, or person dwelling on the negative, quickly becomes the worst, most exhausting sound in the world.

Labels: essay, lists, summer 2008

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I'm Right-ism.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 4 comments link this post

Some people suffer from a severe case of I'm Right-ism.

Actually, they don't suffer from it as much as all the people around them do.

I actually suffer from I'm Wrongism. I naturally assume I'm mistaken or wrong, a sloppy and weak place to be. My flight instructor has more than once tried to get me past that by, for example, questioning a number I've calculated.

"Does this number look right to you?" he might ask.

I immediately say, "Oh, no, I did it wrong. That's wrong."

"Are you sure?" he'd ask.

I pause, and look at the number. I'm pretty careful, but I do make mistakes particularly when I'm doing all the math by hand. Then I realize that no, the number is correct. "No. It's right."

He'd nod and say that I need to have more confidence in myself.

But the I'm Rightist person. Completely insufferable and the only way he can be tolerated is to, essentially, walk away.

You can't tell him anything.

You can't get him to consider otherwise.

And if you manage to get him into a corner and he realizes he doesn't have much ground to stand on...well. He becomes the person I depicted here, the China Shop Bull.

In fact, yet another run-in with the worst I'm Rightist person I know on the internet reminded me of the China Shop Bull because it was drawn with him in mind after a previous incident. This person sees fit to actually write blog posts directed specifically toward me. I know I've only found some of them, for I don't visit his blog much anymore out of an inability to stomach the I'm Rightist tone.

The latest direct blog post effort, which I won't link to, was a humorous example at best of the classic elements of the I'm Rightist:

Not having all the information in a particular situation doesn't stop him from making grand pronouncements.
There seems to be no reason to not make judgment calls in personal issues of other people.
Assuming his life experience is accurate and true for all human experience.
Considers himself an expert in a particular area(s) and has the arrogance (only) to back that up.

I read it, rolled my eyes, and closed out the browser. No point in wasting my time or energy. All I could think was, sadly, "whatever."

In person, I have been known to deal with such people by letting them yammer on and, when they stop to take a breath, simply say in a particularly smarmy and conceding tone: "You're right. Yep. Absolutely right. I have nothing to say."

Then I shrug and walk away and don't let them say another thing.

The I'm Rightist will go insane; he may even try to follow and continue talking. He already thinks he's right, and doesn't need affirmation. What he needs is an audience. He also understands that I don't actually think he's right no matter what I say, and by walking away, I don't give him the chance to protest and continue.

So.

Think you're right?

I'm "sure" you are.

(walking away now.)

Labels: essay

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Misconception #4: Written as it is.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

::Start here.::

You must remember, above all things, that I'm aware of the audience.

I don't show the audience the grubby gears and mechanics of the backstage area, hidden behind the backdrops. I might provide you with an act or two (or three) of drama and melancholy, but that's still in front of the set.

So you don't really know.

You can't really say I'm not afraid. You can't really say I've got it made. You can't really say much, except a discussion on the play I'm letting you see.

There is a reader who has, gradually, become kind of like an encouraging mentor. I recently let this reader know, every so briefly, that I was afraid I wouldn't have what it takes to finish the flying lessons.

"I have the utmost confidence in you," was the reply.

And so I jumped back on stage and started up again, with another joke.

It's this idea -- that you see the whole production -- that leads to all the other misconceptions about fear and talent and self-deprecation.

Look, do you really want to read a daily blog from some Sad Sack? No. I know that. I don't want to read "poor me" every day, either. So I write as I write because there are people in the audience.

This journal entry/blog post, for example, details a moment that wasn't funny at the time. It was, in fact, during a period of stress and fear and self-doubt over not having a place to live. I could certainly written some melodramatic Victorian prose about my plight, but geez -- who wants to read that?

And more importantly, who wants to write that?Dwell in the dirt too long, and all you do is get dirty.

I'm part of the audience. I need to be able to laugh and not always chronicle the mess backstage. I write for my own benefit as much as yours.

Labels: essay, personal, series, writing

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Misconception #3: You are so talented, that's why.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

::Start here. Go here next.::

"You got to know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em, know when to
walk away, and know when to run. You never count your money
when you're sittin' at the table; There'll be time enough for countin'
when the dealin's done."
-- Kenny Rogers "The Gambler"*

I was told in a comment on a blog post that, essentially, I don't appreciate what I have been given:

Neither would someone without a great deal of talent and smarts. Your self-deprecation is sometimes too much for me. It's like someone complaining about going to Yale because they couldn't get into Harvard. You give a bad name to those of us who really do have have something to complain about, those of us who lack your intelligence and abilities.

I was taken aback; I am very aware of how blessed I am, and the last thing I want to do is make someone feel negatively about themselves. I am merely trying to cope with my own fears and issues. Part of me wants to remind people that sometimes what I write about myself is actually about me, and not about you, the reader. I'm not trying to project. I'm only trying to tell.

But...

Do I have nothing to complain about? Or maybe, do you really have something to complain about? Is my life cherry because I've been handed what seems to you to be the mother lode of luck and talent and all good things stem from that alone? Was there no work of my own involved over the years? No grace from God? Surely there's a Shylock moment here, in which I would say if you cut me, I bleed just like you: red, messy, all over the place.

You know how far talent will get you? Just past the supposedly "untalented" people until they start putting in the work you're not. Sooner or later, every child prodigy gets lapped. Remember that.

Consider that talent and smarts can actually be a negative thing in the hands of a slacker, since it means things come easily and when something requires work, the person who has been coasting and rewarded for little effort suddenly can't make the grade. You have no idea the years of work I've put into my music and drawing and writing and all the things that seem to just be handed to me.

Play the hand you're dealt.

The game's not over.

Quit worrying about everyone else's hand, and play the one you have. You can still win with it, because every hand's a winner, and every hand's a loser. Play it out to the end, with all you've got, and quit your bitchin'.

The one who folds early is agreeing to be a victim, beaten by the game.

And Kenny Rogers, despite his strange facelift and foray into marketing BBQ meat products in recent years, was a lyrical genius.

* As I repeatedly have said..."The Gambler" is a great source for life instruction.

Labels: essay, personal, series

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Misconception #2: Self-deprecation.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

::Start here. Go here next.::

"There's no crying in baseball."
-- Tom Hanks' character in A League of Their Own

There's no use crying.

I could sit around and cry about things that bother me. Sometimes I do. But usually, I try to find a way to laugh at myself. Or, at least, hold on until time turns the corner and something finally becomes funny.

Self-deprecation is tricky.

I get raked over by readers periodically for what they say is excessive negativity towards myself. They may be correct, but dang if Dorothy Parker wasn't witty.

If I can't laugh at it, if I can't use my own life material as the punch line, then I got nuttin'. I could make fun of others, but that's just mean. So, I make fun of myself and, in the process, find a way to smile about something that wasn't so funny earlier. Self-deprecation is an important plank in the boat I'm using to get through the wild river of life.

A couple of things happen with self-deprecation: mainly, that you're stronger than you thought, and that you get to know yourself really well because humor has a way of cutting through the crap and shedding light. Turn that on yourself and ouch. It's all there.

It takes a lot to laugh at yourself. Stop being so serious. It isn't that bad.

You can't cry all the time.

Labels: essay, personal, series

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Misconception #1: The misunderstood friend.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

::In response to a recent comment which led me to think I ought to address a couple of misconceptions. The next post is here.::

"Fear is a friend who's misunderstood..."
-- John Mayer, "Heart of Life"

A comment on a post over at the flying blog* made reference to my claim of being a fearful person, and that it seemed like I was lying to say that I was fearful in view of the choices and activities in my life.

Fear is either going to own you or spur you. Fear is a useful tool, a great friend, as long as it is not the one running the show. As over-used as the phrase is, it's true: Without fear, there is no courage.

If you don't have fear, there's a certain hollowness and shallowness to life. Fear both heightens drive and appreciation of life.

I am afraid of many things. You wouldn't believe what I write in journals that no one sees but me. I have lots of fears. Some are nearly crippling.

I'm afraid of failure, in particular, which is why I know I keep trying new things so that I can keep experiencing the initial failures that we all go through when learning something new; it is important that I continually do this. Otherwise, the fear of failure wins, and I just settle in with a life of mediocrity.

Do not think a person to be without fear just because they aren't afraid to face them. To make that assumption is, in a sense, is unfair; it makes it seem as if everything is easy and natural and lucky, which it is not. Nearly everything I've done (Karate, Nicaragua, etc.) has been in response to something I know is giving me problems, that scares me, that I need to face or be owned by.

It is never good policy to think that people who seem brave, or seem happy, or seem to have less problems, actually are those things. Some just refuse to bring their crap to work or drag it around everywhere they go, and work very hard to beat it down into submission. I frequently fall into pits of despair and know how easy it is to stay there versus fighting to get back out. I understand that.

But.

Everyone has hurts. Everyone has problems. Everyone knows pain, knows rejection, knows fear. We all face that in different ways. Don't judge by what you see outside. There's generally much battle going on inside all of us.

This was the second time, in the past month or so, that someone made the assumption that I was carefree and without troubles. My mother, who got to watch me burst into tears and bawl uncontrollably about that, just three weeks ago, could tell you otherwise.

No one escapes fear, and no one escapes hurt. No one.

* I have since deleted the thread; I really need to stress that while I welcome comments, they must be applicable to the post, and that the comments section not be used as a way to communicate with me directly. I did not mind what the person had to say, but it had very little to do with the post and I believed it inappropriate for the post for inevitable future readers who would not come with the background understanding brought by the reader.

Labels: essay, series

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Let it go.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 7 comments link this post

"If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, its yours forever.
If it doesn't, then it was never meant to be."

I remember reading that over-wrought and over-used faux-philosophy gem in a book in high school which involved some guy releasing an eagle or something. In that context it made sense and so I evidently filed it away in the "always true" folder of my mind.

I was thinking about it again recently, for some reason, and decided it's a lot of crap.

It might make people feel better after a break-up (and I certainly can't fault them for that), or find a way to categorize plain, old being dumped into something Shakespearean, but that's about it. Really, it only works perfectly well in a wildlife catch-and-release program sense.

Instead, I find the concept a way of giving passive people the excuse for doing nothing difficult. It leaves everything up to fate, including blame and responsibility. It's a form of pride, too, which chooses to let things fall to the wayside rather than fight for them and perhaps eat an apology or two in order to hang on. Christian guys have the added annoying habit of using the excuse of biding time and letting the good thing slip away all in the name of making sure it's "God's will." "God's will" is almost synonymous for inaction, the ultimate religious guilt-free excuse.

"It wasn't meant to be, I guess. She wasn't meant to be mine. I'm just not the one for her. I had to set her free. She needed to go onto better things." Please. Just shut up. She would have stayed if you could have put a stop to your own self-hating pity party and just been honorable instead of pathetic.

As my friend GirlFriday wrote in a comment on a blog post, there is distinct value (and difficulty) in knowing a good thing when you have it. Perhaps it comes with age and experience, this recognition of a good thing.

Stop all this "letting things go" nonsense. Hang onto it. Grab on tight and quit letting people and things slip away because of what's unimportant or the silly notion that life is Las Vegas and good things are worth tossing away in a gamble to see if they'll come crawling back and make you feel good about yourself. Don't fool yourself into thinking there's a never-ending supply of equivalent good coming down the pipe.

And don't fool yourself into thinking that it'll come back to you and then you'll know for sure it's yours; few things come back to the passive, particularly the good things. In fact, if you set something free and it comes back to you, there's a pretty good chance you have a stalker on your hands. Get a lawyer on retainer. In reality, the person who can't hold onto the good things he only sees in the rear view mirror will find himself eulogizing his regrets with bad poetry and little else to show for it.

I would like to note that the eagle never came back to the kid in that book. There was much purple prose about it, but the essential point that I pull from it now is that when you set something free, it tends to take that as a message to get the heck out of Dodge and not as a message to stick around. Take that for what it's worth.

Do you recognize the good thing in your life? Hold on like there's no tomorrow, because there might not be. Especially if you let it go.

Labels: essay, relationships

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Plain and simple.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 10 comments link this post

I was recently informed that someone "liked" me because I was plain and simple. It wasn't meant as an insult; I understand both that and the context of the situation. However, the words "plain" and "simple" aren't really words any woman wants to hear herself described as.

Perhaps it's because, as my friend Travis informed me, all women are vain.

"They are. All women are vain," he said.

I'm pretty sure I shot him a dirty glance (my specialty) and scathing comment at the time, but I know that I didn't really disagree. Because I don't really disagree, not really. Women are vain (there is no other explanation for high heels and makeup, all of which are uncomfortable in regular life). That vanity, however, is a response to an equally shallow male requirement. The shallow yin fits tightly with the shallow yang of the sexes. Female vanity is a foil for male addiction to surface perusal.

There is a movement afoot in recent books to rage against efforts to feminize boys. Essay and article and book upon book are appearing telling us to let boys be boys and grow into men. I'm not going to agree nor disagree, but I do want to point out that the theoretical crushing of maleness is relatively new development, while history has a solid track record across time and culture of requiring or encouraging women to do serious physical and emotional harm to themselves for outward appearance's sake. With very, very few exceptions have women in any culture or era escaped this pressure.

My friend Molly, upon hearing the "plain and simple" story, was quick to comment.

"You know what he meant by plain and simple?? Good things in my book -- you are real -- you are you and don't need a bunch of junk on your exterior to introduce you before you get there. Real would have been a better word. Genuine," she said in an email.

That is kind of her to say. Perhaps she's right in this particular case. I don't know.

I do know that much ink has been used to pen songs and poems about beautiful women. Green-eyed, red-haired Jolene. The brown-eyed girl. The lady in red. The pouty child-woman extolled by Billy Joel. The long-legged woman with the "American thighs" (which sounds very much like a potential menu item at KFC, a fitting observation in terms of meat market and lists of exterior requirements) that AC/DC screeched about. Despite Bobby Sherman's best efforts to console all the Julies out there, there just aren't a lot of songs written in praise of the plain woman.

So, let's get back to plain and simple.

"Simple" brings to mind characters from Of Mice and Men, which disturbs me a great deal and I don't think I'll be delving into what would make me seem simple. At least not today.

But "plain." What is "plain", anyway?

It calms the upset stomach, if we're talking plain food. Plain is decidedly un-baroque. It's nothing to write home about. It's basic and functional. It lacks any ornamentation. It might be comfortable like vanilla or an old chair, and is certainly not exotic or addictive. No one is on their knees begging the plain woman. The plain woman is the scullery maid in the kitchen of women. Plain is invisible. At least ugly is made note of.

However, "plain" has time on its side. Time, thankfully, is the great equalizer of beauty in women. It relentless strips away layer after layer of youthful, surface beauty until, at some point, the formerly beautiful and the formerly ugly and plain are on equal ground and are seen for what they are inside.

Perhaps this person who liked me because I was plain and simple simple skipped ahead to that point in time. I think he'd had and seen enough of women who "upset the stomach" and maybe saw value in the bland. Hard to say.

I'm envisioning myself as a bowl of soggy oatmeal, here, which is a disappointing thing.

I know I (almost to a fault) find myself pursuing things that can withstand this lashing of time, things like skills or knowledge or the pursuit of Christian faith (in my case). I can easily get caught up into forcing myself to be the best, the smartest, the most skilled, the funniest, the nicest, the most interesting, the handiest...because I know I'm not ever going to even touch being the prettiest. I'm not even going to register as cute, most likely. I don't have pretty to fall back on, just my wits and the things I've learned. Which sounds pretty good, and is, except...women are supposed to be pretty, or so the subtle and not-so-subtle message goes. To not have some discernible element of exterior beauty is almost anti-woman, is the suggestion.

It's more than a little distressing to thumb through or read the onslaught of Christian books that purport to help men and women understand each other, only to have pounded into my head again and again (sometimes with "supporting" scripture, which is so fabulous!!) that men are visual and they want women to look good on the outside and women should just understand that they need to put some serious effort into it but don't become vain or hung up and God bless you you're special because of who you are inside but still devote time to being beautiful outside because men are visual and we're not asking them to take themselves to task on that since we'll just work around it and understand it.

Blah blah blah.

Where are the blind men when you need them?

I guess I've hit the age where I can see that spending time in front of the mirror, spending money on the latest makeup or hair-care product, spending wasted hours with hot appliances wrapped up in my hair, or spending the time fretting over running mascara or sweat stains and curtailing my activities so as not to muss myself is a complete waste of everything. I certainly don't wander around in a gunny sack with greasy hair; I have my own fair selection of high heels and makeup, but on the other hand...what is the point? Really? Bunions?

I would like to think that when I'm 60 I won't still be putting on makeup as if I were 20, looking like a clown poured into Junior Miss clothing from J.C. Penney's. I would like to think that I wouldn't suffer the vanity that compelled me to visit a plastic surgeon slice up my face and have it stitched up higher and fuss with clothing and scarves that would hide my wrinkled neck and knees. The only catch is that right now I'm not 60, I'm 34, and that makes for three decades of biding my time for time to do its work.

That's the plain and simple truth about being plain and simple.

Now, if I had been called "simple-minded", there would be some genuine ass-kicking going on. No one insults my mind without a little return on the investment.

Labels: essay, my life, personal, women

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Conversation: No life.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 1 comments link this post

In a recent conversation with a person, I got to thinking about the phrase "I have no life" in terms of working at a job extensively vs. the concept that life = self free time.

"You work a lot," I said.

This person had a working schedule that would make me implode, since the jobs I've had always seemed to suck the life out of me and leave a kind of vacuum inside that made me wonder if I were just lazy or if it was even possible for anyone -- namely me -- to enjoy any paying job. More than one friend has expressed serious disillusion with their work, so I know I'm not alone.

The person nodded in agreement and jokingly replied. "Yeah, I work a lot. I have no life."

"I hope you enjoy your work," I replied.

"I do. I love my job."

"That's good," I said, rather blandly, but I was thinking that this person was so far ahead of most people that I could barely fathom it. Loved the job?

That's far more of a life than the average person working a job they disliked that made them try to overcompensate on both real off-the-clock time and the on-the-clock-but-wish-I-weren't time.

I would love to love a job. It would help cull some of the excessive restlessness inside, the constant push to find the next new opportunity that might be the job I could at least like. The truth in this case lies very close to the truth I am finally understanding about home and geography.

Home isn't geography. It isn't a specific geographical place. It's a fluid time, a compilation of moments, a sense of being where you are supposed to be, where you are safe and wanted. Home can be taken with you from place to place, on into the future, allowed to change, if the foundation was laid right. For too long I thought I had to be in a specific place to be home. That made moving on, and the passage of time and how it played out in people and buildings, a horrible thing. Once I released home from being locked to a place in geography, I could relax and just enjoy the compilation of memories.

And so, just as home isn't a place, I could love my work if I could finally get a handle on how it has nothing to do with the actual job.

I think.

If you love your job and you are constantly working, you have a life. It's those of us practicing truth-avoidance with a smile that have no life no matter how much time we call our own.

Labels: conversations, essay, personal, work

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The gift of hospitality.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 4 comments link this post

::Part of this was in an email I wrote to my parents, regarding my difficulty in finding an apartment or other housing after my initial plans went sour.::

"To welcome the stranger is to acknowledge him as a human
being made in God's image; it is to treat her as one of equal worth
with ourselves - indeed, as one who may teach us something out of
the richness of experiences different from our own."

-- Ana Maria Pineda

The Bible is filled with passages talking about taking in the stranger. God's own people were strangers and refugees. I got to thinking about my current situation (no place to stay as of yet), and how much I don't like asking people for help; it made me think of the passages in the Bible regarding hospitality, and how the disciples and Jesus had no home and relied upon people putting them up.

I wonder if that would happen today?

The American ideal is that God helps those who help themselves; our general state of hospitality can be keenly seen in our dialog on immigrants and others having a difficult time making it. Immigrants are fine if they can pull their own weight. We'll send money to help the refugees somewhere in Africa, but damned if they start coming over here and not learning our language or becoming like us. "Those people" can go to Lutheran Social Services or some other government agency to get help; that's what they're there for. I've heard that many times. It's echoed, in a softer version swathed in some sort of Biblical apologetic, by many Christian and right-wing leaders.

Build soup kitchens, homeless shelters, group housing. Put them there.

But not in my home.

My home with ample space, where I have all my stuff that I like just so. Don't ask me to give up my good stuff; I'll give you the old stuff I don't want anymore.

Romans 12:13 says hospitality is something that must be practiced, which suggests it doesn't come easily or naturally to our greedy, selfish natures.

I know that after 29 exchange students through the years of growing up, I was tired of sharing my clothes and shower and bathroom and time with these guests, though I hid my reasons for wanting my parents to stop hosting them in much more diplomatic and reasonable language. Essentially, I grew tired of practicing hospitality, for hospitality requires relinquishing personal space, my stuff, my time, my rights, my habits, and my comfort for the sake of another. It requires efforts at making conversation and attending to needs and not expecting a return. Hospitality can be dangerous; you don't know what might happen when you invite people into your home. Hospitality isn't just helping out your close friends and families, but involves the stranger or the one in need. And, it requires humility enough to ask for and accept hospitable help, and the generosity enough to keep offering it above and beyond what our culture tells us "is enough." This is hard work, and must be practiced.

To my parents, in an email this morning, I wrote:

It is starting to seem that people will say "let me know if you need any help" but when they are pressed for something that would inconvenience them, they put limits on that. I was thinking about how you guys gave George* and his family a house for a year when things weren't looking good for them, and let them have their dog there and everything. Repeatedly, you have gone out of your way to help people with furniture, money, clothing, housing -- even helped people move. Rarely was it convenient. Yet that isn't the normal behavior of people. I guess it's a good lesson to learn, the contrast of the two behaviors.

My parents have been excellent examples to all of us kids in regards to what hospitality looks like. Often, we shake our heads and tell them they are being too patient or too lenient, or getting to involved. Yet, I can see as I look back, that being generous is not the problem. Greed is.

And it is greed, a greed of convenience and space and autonomy and personal ease. A desire to be accountable or answer to or be required of no one.

People are so lonely and unhappy in our "independent" and self-removed lifestyle in the West -- we have our own space and our own stuff and it's very little hassle if it stays that way! -- but we don't see how it makes us unhappy in our greed, or creates selfishness. We make excuses as to why helping someone wouldn't work or wouldn't be a good idea because it would mean someone would intrude on our comfort level. "They got into this mess. They can get out. It'll be a good lesson," we might say, and it sounds good and responsible and very much like tough love. "It's time they took responsibility."

We offer to help but make sure it is help that doesn't require much commitment or undue loss of time or resources. What we don't understand is that, not only would it be good for us to go out of our way and "responsibility" to help someone in the long run, but it is required. The Bible doesn't suggest we be hospitable. It tells us to be hospitable. It does not tell us to tell people that it is their responsibility to take care of themselves. We are to take care of each other, as God has taken care of us.

Matthew 25:35 is often used for reasons to help the poor and needy, but lest we get locked in our minds that the poor and needy are a certain set of people, we need to remember that the poor and needy can come in many forms and fluctuate from previous states. Two weeks ago, for example, I was not needy. I did not need a place to stay. Today, at this moment, I do. This passage, however, addresses more than just the person who needs food or clothing. It says: "I was a stranger and you invited me in."

One thing I appreciated about Shane Claiborne and the things he promotes in his writing, is this very unusual idea (in the western culture mainly, not most of the rest of the world) of serious hospitality. When he travels for speaking engagements, for example, he asks to stay in the homes of the people of the church he is speaking at, and not in some impersonal hotel. I'm sure some people would rather not be bothered, and it would be easier to relegate the stranger to a hotel.

I understand Claiborne's personal policy on many levels. I am tired of impersonal hotels. I've stayed in enough of them in my meager travels over the years, and I don't get a lot of joy out of staying in them anymore. It's not exciting. I am starting to understand and appreciate what Claiborne is trying to say about hospitality and relationships and community.

Whatever the case, my little experience is a good reminder to be hospitable and helpful all the time, not just when it's easy, and not just to throw the words around suggesting you'll help but not follow through. It is difficult for me, not because I don't want to help, but because I am shy and have a fear of offering to help and being rebuffed.

My experience has been mild. A week in duration. I have a computer for communication and family that checks up on me. If all else fails and I can't find a place to stay for my 3 months of class, then I will simply have to end the instruction and go back home and try again some other time. It's all easy enough -- I, at least, have a home somewhere.

Just not here.

*Name has been changed.

Labels: essay, family, relationships, religion, summer 2008

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The lies of when.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

I will

travel
get free
follow Jesus
start to love
take a chance
change careers
let go of past hurts
tell my family I love them
get out of this disappointing rut
stop being selfish and living for myself
say the things I need to say to someone
stop settling for distraction over truth
do what I always dreamed of doing
do something worthwhile
spend time with people
learn something new
leave the safe place
open up my heart
try again
be bold
forgive

when I

am sure
get back to it
have more time
have confidence
remember to do it
am a little bit older
have enough money
find a convenient moment
am finally given the respect I think I deserve
get through this current challenge and things settle down
think others have sufficiently made things right
have all my life plans falling into place
decide that I'm ready
get my life in order
am brave enough
am treated fairly
get around to it
am happy
am good

There is no when.
It never comes.
There is only now and what was.

The true nature of time and the brevity of this life is disguised by the lies of when, which we tell ourselves willingly.

Don't wait.

Note: This post was pre-written and published as scheduled. Read more about this here.

Labels: essay, personal, poetry

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The theory of enough.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 0 comments link this post

If they offer you two for the price of one, just get one anyway.

Get the smallest size, the least amount, the less side of everything. Be understocked, under-prepared, and let God take the load. Have faith?

Faith is being unprepared.
Not stocking up.
Not thinking "just in case."
Not serving Mammon in the guise of saving money and being a wise consumer.
Because getting more for your buck is still about getting more.
And it's usually at the expense of someone getting not nearly enough.

We think that it's better to be over-prepared than under-prepared, but no. Be under-prepared. Give God a chance to make some wine and feed the 5000. Have too little rather than too much and let go of the lie that you can take care of yourself.

Take only enough manna for today.

The rest is waste and greed.

Related Links:

Storage and burial

Note: This post was pre-written and published as scheduled. Read more about this here.

Labels: essay, religion

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Joiners.

written by Julie R. Neidlinger 12 comments link this post

I'm not a joiner.

I don't join stuff. I don't join groups, organizations, causes, unions, political parties, or even my church¹.

Right now I'm reading a book, written by Marcia Ford, called We the Purple: Faith, Politics and the Independent Voter. I'm not far enough into it to talk about the book, but the idea is that voters who refuse to swear allegiance to a particular political party aren't doing so because we're confused, unable to decide, fickle, wanting to destroy America, or waiting to the last possible moment.

We just aren't joiners.

What happens when you join something?

You have to adhere to a set of guidelines.
You feel like you have a bit of protection, since there's safety and power in numbers.
You often have to send in membership dues, with your money being used however the group sees fit.
You are associated with the entire organization and it's policies, actions, and reputation.
If you want to stay a member, you lose a bit of autonomy of action since you have guidelines to consider.
The longer the group is in existence, the more likely it is that the preservation of the group itself becomes the goal, and not the original purpose or reason that the group was formed in the first place i.e. the focus is lost.
There is pressure to not rock the boat and to maintain the status quo within the group. Solidarity within is necessary for the appearance of strength on the outside.

Is the Republican party more interested in the success of the Republican party, or the success of the people? Is the Democratic party more interested in the success of the Democratic party, or the success of the people? Is the National Education Association more interested in the protection of their members and the power of the entire group or in the actual education of children?

You can substitute just about any group in this verbal equation and get the same result.

These groups have been around a long time. Their focus has shifted to now being the preservation of the organization. And if I join, despite the seeming benefit of being part of a crowd and the feeling that someone has my back, my money -- which, I believe to not be my money but God's money -- is used how it should not be used. (The money I send in for my taxes, and how it is used, is distressing enough.) My voice, even in dissent within the group, is only adding to the volume of the group's general message because I'm still a member. By being a member, I am giving credence to whatever the group stands for, by sheer numbers².

I will continue to avoid joining stuff as best I can. I don't want to find myself in a situation, someday, where the groups and organizations I've joined are demanding that I sacrifice my ideals or conscience for the "greater good" of the organization. I am responsible for my actions, whether they are direct (what I do personally) or indirect (the actions of a group I'm part of). I will have to answer for them someday.

My voice is my own. No one else speaks for me. And even if that means I'm barely or rarely heard, so be it. At least it's my true voice.

¹ I don't see why I have to "officially" join a church and become a "member" when all Christians are "members" of the body of Christ, i.e. "the church." I'm perfectly willing to accept and understand that that means I can't vote and take part in decision making of my local body. I'm not a person that thinks I should receive any of the member benefits without being a member; I'm perfectly fine with understanding there really are "members only" situations, beyond the ugly jackets from the 1980's.

² I understand the dilemma facing teachers and the need for liability insurance and other things the NEA provides. There are other alternatives, I guess, but again, it's still another group to join. Tort reform would be good right about now.

Labels: book

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Today's Mail: Rhetorical question #4.

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I have a dream.

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A few things learned.

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I'm Right-ism.

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Misconception #4: Written as it is.

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Misconception #1: The misunderstood friend.

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Let it go.

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Plain and simple.

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Conversation: No life.

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The gift of hospitality.

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The lies of when.

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The theory of enough.

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Joiners.