Okay readers (Mom), if you're not dead or mentally retarded from holding your breath this long, take a deep one now. I'm finally going to compose my piece(peace) on that subject which I've been researching. I fear I've made it sound as though I've spent countless hours translating the Dead Sea Scrolls when all I've really done is look up a few online articles and scriptures from various religious texts. See, my lack of posts is more about my lack of commitment to myself than anything else...but that's an entirely different subject. Tonight's subject is Intelligence.
The 'g' factor. (Yes, that was an incomplete sentence within my monologue on intelligence) The idea that there is a general factor underlying any activity requiring mental effort is controversial at best. There is a positive correlation among tests meant to measure congnitive function, but cognitive function is not necessarily tantamount in our modern definition of intelligence. Psychologists Robert Sternberg and Howard Gardner purport our intellect to be made up of many different and multiple intelligences, including (but not limited to) logical, spatial, kinesthetic, rhythmic, and interpersonal. It's romantic to think that whatever one is gifted at (for we do, truly, all have something we do well) can be defined as intelligence in one category or another. However, in some ways, I worry that this definition is too much in keeping with the modern-day Little League rules where everybody plays and everbody wins: ego boosting, but not very grounded in reality. But how, then, should we define the indefinable?
"I know that I am intelligent, because I know that I know nothing." As the tale goes, after a search for the most intelligent man alive, in which many men spouted knowledge on all sorts of subjects and demonstrated expertise in various areas, Socrates deems himself to hold the position based on a *lack* of knowledge. We all hate know-it-alls. One of my biggest pet-peeves is having a discussion with someone about something I know like the back of my hand (because I've had a unique life experience, or because I spent years studying it in college, etc.) and having that person tell me, without any foundation whatsoever, what that thing is really like. And because of said peeve, I'm always very careful to defer to others when I don't know what I'm talking about, admit when I don't have a clue, and ask a lot of questions. Do I think this makes me intelligent? Yeah. I kinda do. I know that even those things I know well are so vast that I can't know them completely. So I'm like Socrates, willing and able to learn.
Willingness is important here, but what of ability? Is someone less able to learn automatically less intelligent than I am? It's been a long time since I read Flowers for Algernon, but on the subject of intelligence, it's a classic that can't be left out of this one-sided discussion. In case you're not familiar with the story, Algernon is a mouse that undergoes surgery to enhance its intelligence. Charlie Gordon, the main character, is a mentally disabled man who is the first human to follow suit. For a time, Charlie's life is greatly improved. He even develops a relationship with his former teacher, but then comes to surpass her intellectually to such a point that the two no longer have any common ground. Eventually, the intellect begins to wear off. Charlie, as a genius, watches Algernon's decline (and death), frantically trying to find a way to prevent the same from happening to him. The story raises many thought-provoking questions. Charlie becomes increasingly friendless and unhappy as his intelligence accumulates. Are intelligence and happiness mutually exclusive? If so, is intelligence even desirable? Or is ignorance truly bliss?
Where science and literature fail me, I look to religion. On this topic, I thought I would delve into a few seemingly unrelated texts: the Book of Mormon (This may come as a shock Mom, but I'm LDS [not to be confused with LSD, though both can be trippy]), the Quran, and the Rig Veda. These texts represent the three largest religious traditions in the world: Christianity, Islam, and Hinduism. You would think that three religions with such vastly different concepts of God wouldn't be uniform on any one topic, but I found the opposite. In fact, all three texts associate intelligence with moral action. The Rig Veda implores, "Be our lord and protect our deeds performed with intelligence," implying that some greater force should secure actions that are worthy only through the qualification of having been done with intelligence. The Quran backs up this idea, saying, "(Remember also) the 'Ad and the Thamud (people): clearly will appear to you from
(the traces) of their buildings (their fate): the Evil One made their deeds
alluring to them, and kept them back from the Path, though they were gifted with intelligence and skill (Al-Ankaboot, Chapter 29, Verse 38)." Here, intelligence and skill are assumed to be enough to keep one from falling into the enticements of the "Evil One". The Doctrine and Covenants (which is a scriptural companion to the Book of Mormon) states, "All truth is independent in that sphere in which God has placed it, to act for itself, as all intelligence also; otherwise there is no existence. Behold, here is the agency of man, and here is the condemnation of man; because that which was from the beginning is plainly manifest unto them, and they receive not the light (Section 93, Verses 30-31). Here, as with the Quran, the agency of man is intertwined with the intelligence that God has placed in him.
So now that we've established that intelligence is perhaps moral rather than intellectual, let's define what it is, exactly. "Man was also in the beginning with God. Intelligence, or the light of truth was not created or made, neither can be (D&C Section 93, Verse 29)." We learn here that intelligence is the "light of truth" and that it exists independently from God. Sounds to me like a Platonic absolute. While God has the power (being God) to bestow intelligence (see Verses 30-31), He does not create it. In fact, though Mormonism purports that God is the Father of our Spirit bodies, it also refers to our state of pre-Spirit being as Intelligences: "Now the Lord had shown unto me, Abraham, the intelligences that were organized before the world was; and among all these there were many of the noble and great ones (Abraham [in the Pearl of Great Price, another scriptural companion] Chapter 3, Verse 22)." So Intelligences were organized even before God created Spirit bodies. The Rig Veda seems to concur that intelligence is not dependent on a higher power. "Intelligence is the mightiest and nothing is beyond its reach." The "mightiest" leaves no room for misinterpretation. God is not mightier than intelligence. How do we, then, as mere humans, access something mightier than God?
The Quran explains that God gives us intelligence as a gift: "It is He Who brought you froth from the wombs of your mothers when ye knew nothing; and He gave you hearing and sight and intelligence and affections: that ye may give thanks to Allah (Chapter 16, Verse 78)." As we read earlier, the Doctrine and Covenants is in agreement: "All truth is in that sphere in which God has placed it, to act for itself, as all intelligence also; otherwise there is no existence. Behold, here is the agency of man (...) and they receive not the light." God 'places' intelligence within us so that we may recognize the "light of truth". There is no point to our existence if we do not have the intelligence necessary to exercise agency, making decisions good or bad. Here, we also learn that we are under condemnation if we do not receive the light of truth using the intelligence we have been given. Basically, then, we all have an equal ability to be intelligent, what with "that which was from the beginning is plainly manifest unto" each of us. Intelligence can be measured by the "light of truth" we receive. Those who are using their agency for the good are obviously more 'enlightened', if you will. In this version, intelligence is definitely desirable. In fact, existence itself is pointless without it. And if intelligence truly does align with morality, then it can, in fact, make us happier. So, while I might be pretty brainy in the critical thinking department, I'm really not all that smart when compared to millions of other people who are doing far more good in this world than I. How's that for some humble pie?
Monday, March 11, 2013
Friday, February 22, 2013
It's okay to be awesome.
No, this is not my well-researched piece. I haven't had the mental energy or the self-discipline to continue working on that composition. It will come, eventually. Patience is a virtue, right? But while we're all waiting together (and I say 'all' as though more people than myself and my mother are reading this), I'm going to break my own rules about blogging and share something that happened straight out of my day-to-day life. Last night, I shared a poem that I wrote with a large group of non-poet women. It was incredibly embarrassing. But it was also surprisingly affirming. They actually liked it. One of them even asked me if I was planning to publish. With as much poetry as I read, I know I'm not the most brilliant poetess, but I think I forget my own talents in the enormity of talent existent in the world. I think we all forget our real significance.
My husband (Jeff) and I were joking one night that we might be two of only a handful of people who really think about life. We had both recently read Tinkers by Paul Harding and we were likening his book of deep contemplation to the messages that humankind has sent out into space in case there is life elsewhere in the universe. We thought we should write to him and let him know that he found us, the other intelligent life on this planet. We were kidding, of course, but maybe we shouldn't have been. Paul Harding's gifts and effort are wasted if there aren't people like us out there. Obviously, there are far more people than Jeff and I who would appreciate Harding's book, but we can't really know how many. We all have different aptitudes. Some fully understand the beauty of concert piano. Others comprehend the intracacies of a Rembrandt. Jeff, for example, sees art and grace in a skateboard griding a handrail...which is beyond me. But while he may not be a professional-grade skateboarder, his love for and ability to skateboard add value to the process as a whole. In that sense, all of our talents, whatever they may be, are vitally important in this world. We shouldn't sell ourselves short. The Nobel Prize Winner is nothing without those who understand the significance of what he/she accomplished in order to qualify for such an award. In that vein, I'm going to post the poem I shared last night. This is my version of publication. And yes, I'm proud of this poem. I should be.
My husband (Jeff) and I were joking one night that we might be two of only a handful of people who really think about life. We had both recently read Tinkers by Paul Harding and we were likening his book of deep contemplation to the messages that humankind has sent out into space in case there is life elsewhere in the universe. We thought we should write to him and let him know that he found us, the other intelligent life on this planet. We were kidding, of course, but maybe we shouldn't have been. Paul Harding's gifts and effort are wasted if there aren't people like us out there. Obviously, there are far more people than Jeff and I who would appreciate Harding's book, but we can't really know how many. We all have different aptitudes. Some fully understand the beauty of concert piano. Others comprehend the intracacies of a Rembrandt. Jeff, for example, sees art and grace in a skateboard griding a handrail...which is beyond me. But while he may not be a professional-grade skateboarder, his love for and ability to skateboard add value to the process as a whole. In that sense, all of our talents, whatever they may be, are vitally important in this world. We shouldn't sell ourselves short. The Nobel Prize Winner is nothing without those who understand the significance of what he/she accomplished in order to qualify for such an award. In that vein, I'm going to post the poem I shared last night. This is my version of publication. And yes, I'm proud of this poem. I should be.
For My Children
How I See Myself:
A package
marked
'Fragile' with a sticker
on the wrist, a calf,
this uncreased forehead.
Porcelain white skin,
Japanese paper thin.
I fold
myself into an origami
lotus flower, petals crushed
by clumsy hands and
numb fingers.
Three hundred sixty five
needles remind me something
can go wrong any day,
and always does.
Justice will claim me post Murphy.
How You See Me:
It's an analogy.
Atlas is to a Harlem Globetrotter as
Mommy is to a circus juggler.
They made a day for you
to make me
breakfast as though
I get to stay in bed.
When you were old enough,
you picked dandelions
for me on holidays. Maybe
you understand me
better than I thought.
How I See You:
Today the crayon marked
toilet should be put in
a museum.
Today your smile compensated
for the silence
of your laughter.
Today your are my suns.
You'll both be missing soon
but in the Lost and Found.
Here's my hat. Here's my job.
Here's my wife. Here's my God.
You're found,
but I'll have lost you.
Freud sends the word:
In the end, it's my fault.
My only redemption?
What you mean to me -
I did exactly two good things
with my life.
How I See Myself:
A package
marked
'Fragile' with a sticker
on the wrist, a calf,
this uncreased forehead.
Porcelain white skin,
Japanese paper thin.
I fold
myself into an origami
lotus flower, petals crushed
by clumsy hands and
numb fingers.
Three hundred sixty five
needles remind me something
can go wrong any day,
and always does.
Justice will claim me post Murphy.
How You See Me:
It's an analogy.
Atlas is to a Harlem Globetrotter as
Mommy is to a circus juggler.
They made a day for you
to make me
breakfast as though
I get to stay in bed.
When you were old enough,
you picked dandelions
for me on holidays. Maybe
you understand me
better than I thought.
How I See You:
Today the crayon marked
toilet should be put in
a museum.
Today your smile compensated
for the silence
of your laughter.
Today your are my suns.
You'll both be missing soon
but in the Lost and Found.
Here's my hat. Here's my job.
Here's my wife. Here's my God.
You're found,
but I'll have lost you.
Freud sends the word:
In the end, it's my fault.
My only redemption?
What you mean to me -
I did exactly two good things
with my life.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
Cha-ching!
It's been a little while. There are two reasons for the time gap: I am again attempting to potty train the toddler (which is *still* not going well) and I have been doing some research on a subject about which I am very interested in writing. My research isn't done, so while you're awaiting the magnificence of that thoroughly investigated post, you get some unfounded musings on that stuff that makes the world go 'round: money.
I am not rich. I could be. I have abilities equal to that of Stephenie Meyer or E. L. James. I also have the mental capacity to learn to do almost any profession (I'm not going to pretend that I could have been Bill Gates or Michael Jordan), including those that are very well-payed. My husband is equally as talented, and actually has immense earning potential in his chosen field right now. So why does our family of four live in a two bedroom, one garage townhome? Why do I drive a used Subaru Forrester that's more than a decade old? Why do the majority of the items in my closet cost less than $20 each? Because it's true that money can't buy happiness.
1. "Happiness is only when shared." If you haven't seen Into the Wild, you should (especially because one of the most talented of all musicians wrote the soundtrack). Basically, a dude ventures out with nothing to call his own, to live by himself in the middle of the snow in Alaska. He dies. But before he dies, he writes the above quote in the margins of a book. The way I see it, the quote could have more than one meaning. Two are applicable to this post: a) Sharing happiness is the only way to have it to begin with. b) Life experiences mean nothing if they are not shared with someone else. I don't have time to be rich. The countless hours that I or my husband would need to spend away from our family in order to make considerable amounts of money are not worth any dollar amount. We are too busy engaged in the life experiences of raising children *together* in the pursuit of our own happiness, and in imparting the happiness we have in our having children *with* our children that there is no time for money.
2. Some people can make money without spending copious amounts of time doing so. I don't think authors of popular fiction like those I mentioned earlier have had to sacrifice family time to make their moola, so why am I not busy writing a stupid story that will enamor millions of adoring fans instead of this blog that maybe three people read? That was rhetorical. I can't bring myself to write something stupid...at least not on purpose. I've tried. I wrote several chapters of a novel once before I had children. It was deep and poignant, but I still wasn't satisfied with it and I scrapped the whole thing. I don't think I could live with myself if I were to make money doing something that didn't require a lot of time, effort, thought, etc.
3. I don't like stuff. I have absolutely no attachment, sentimental or otherwise, to any object. When people ask me what one item I would try to save if my house burned down, I tell them it's the laptop because all of our family's photographs are on it. Even if the laptop didn't make it out, I wouldn't be too upset. I have memories, documented or not. I'd prefer to live in a society that didn't depend so much on material things. However, I live where I live and I have stuff because it's culturally convenient. Point is, I definitely don't need more of it so I don't need more money to buy it.
I have no beef with people who do or want to make oodles of money. I don't want their money. I don't even want more of my own. They might be every bit as happy with their money as I am without it. In fact, I think some people are happiest while in pursuit of money, and I don't think that's a bad thing. But money really can't buy happiness, though it can buy ice cream...which is the next best thing.
I am not rich. I could be. I have abilities equal to that of Stephenie Meyer or E. L. James. I also have the mental capacity to learn to do almost any profession (I'm not going to pretend that I could have been Bill Gates or Michael Jordan), including those that are very well-payed. My husband is equally as talented, and actually has immense earning potential in his chosen field right now. So why does our family of four live in a two bedroom, one garage townhome? Why do I drive a used Subaru Forrester that's more than a decade old? Why do the majority of the items in my closet cost less than $20 each? Because it's true that money can't buy happiness.
1. "Happiness is only when shared." If you haven't seen Into the Wild, you should (especially because one of the most talented of all musicians wrote the soundtrack). Basically, a dude ventures out with nothing to call his own, to live by himself in the middle of the snow in Alaska. He dies. But before he dies, he writes the above quote in the margins of a book. The way I see it, the quote could have more than one meaning. Two are applicable to this post: a) Sharing happiness is the only way to have it to begin with. b) Life experiences mean nothing if they are not shared with someone else. I don't have time to be rich. The countless hours that I or my husband would need to spend away from our family in order to make considerable amounts of money are not worth any dollar amount. We are too busy engaged in the life experiences of raising children *together* in the pursuit of our own happiness, and in imparting the happiness we have in our having children *with* our children that there is no time for money.
2. Some people can make money without spending copious amounts of time doing so. I don't think authors of popular fiction like those I mentioned earlier have had to sacrifice family time to make their moola, so why am I not busy writing a stupid story that will enamor millions of adoring fans instead of this blog that maybe three people read? That was rhetorical. I can't bring myself to write something stupid...at least not on purpose. I've tried. I wrote several chapters of a novel once before I had children. It was deep and poignant, but I still wasn't satisfied with it and I scrapped the whole thing. I don't think I could live with myself if I were to make money doing something that didn't require a lot of time, effort, thought, etc.
3. I don't like stuff. I have absolutely no attachment, sentimental or otherwise, to any object. When people ask me what one item I would try to save if my house burned down, I tell them it's the laptop because all of our family's photographs are on it. Even if the laptop didn't make it out, I wouldn't be too upset. I have memories, documented or not. I'd prefer to live in a society that didn't depend so much on material things. However, I live where I live and I have stuff because it's culturally convenient. Point is, I definitely don't need more of it so I don't need more money to buy it.
I have no beef with people who do or want to make oodles of money. I don't want their money. I don't even want more of my own. They might be every bit as happy with their money as I am without it. In fact, I think some people are happiest while in pursuit of money, and I don't think that's a bad thing. But money really can't buy happiness, though it can buy ice cream...which is the next best thing.
Monday, February 4, 2013
facebook-by poetrings
I like poetry. In fact, I like poetry so much that lately, I've even taken to unloading rounds of it into other people's heads. I've found facebook to be a great medium for this task. I rewrite William Carlos Williams' poems (I choose him because his poetry is concise and maleable) on fb walls with a hidden meaning for the owner of the wall. They read it. Our friends read it. Their friends read it. And I feel like I've done something akin to a drive-by shooting, except with a positive effect. A facebook-by poetring? Okay. We'll go with that.
I dabbled in poetry when I was fifteen on instinct, and delved from seventeen to twenty-four. I still read it, textbooks of it, for kicks. It's a slow process, though. The reading of poetry, I mean. You don't just skim or even read only once any poem. There's too much going on that is prone to being completely missed. My analytical mind likes to pick them to carcass. My creativity likes to phoenix a new one on the remains. I write poetry because "I love you" and "The weather is so nice today" don't really express what I mean. Whether I simplify these ideas or complicate them through my convoluted metaphors, concrete imagery or abstract wording, I write creatively because I can't say it right otherwise. I believe that I would stop writing if I were ever able to say anything and have it mean what I really meant. Even my best poems fall short. I write because I have to keep trying to communicate, with those whom I care to communicate, the composition of my insides. My poems are successful when the idea I'm trying to put across is the same idea that's being picked up, even though there will always be something lost in translation. I want you to know who I am and what I feel, how I think and what I've come to know. If my poetry can't tell you, then nothing will.
After I posted my first blog entry, my little brother asked me what the poem posted there is about. He didn't know what the word 'sternutation' meant, for starters. (You have to understand that my little brother is on the cusp of earning his doctorate in Math. He's scary smart. I'm actually kinda flattered that he even read that blog entry) I told him that all poems are either about love or death, and that Sneezing is about both. Of course, that's a very generalized (and, as such, not quite truthful) statement. But it is always true that there is something of the human condition found in every poem. And what two enigmas embody better the human condition than love and death? Sure, the human condition can be written about in any form of literature, or even portrayed in music or movies. But nothing quite has the same impact as a poem. Like the compactness of a fist delivering a heavier blow than the open-handed slap, the brevity and packed in meaning of a poem alters its recipient far more than a drawn out explanation. That being said, please consider this my giving you a black-eye:
See what I mean? I pretty much just told you, in eight short lines, everything I said in all the previous paragraphs combined. Which was more powerful? If you don't like poetry, you probably shouldn't continue to read my blog. Just sayin'.
I dabbled in poetry when I was fifteen on instinct, and delved from seventeen to twenty-four. I still read it, textbooks of it, for kicks. It's a slow process, though. The reading of poetry, I mean. You don't just skim or even read only once any poem. There's too much going on that is prone to being completely missed. My analytical mind likes to pick them to carcass. My creativity likes to phoenix a new one on the remains. I write poetry because "I love you" and "The weather is so nice today" don't really express what I mean. Whether I simplify these ideas or complicate them through my convoluted metaphors, concrete imagery or abstract wording, I write creatively because I can't say it right otherwise. I believe that I would stop writing if I were ever able to say anything and have it mean what I really meant. Even my best poems fall short. I write because I have to keep trying to communicate, with those whom I care to communicate, the composition of my insides. My poems are successful when the idea I'm trying to put across is the same idea that's being picked up, even though there will always be something lost in translation. I want you to know who I am and what I feel, how I think and what I've come to know. If my poetry can't tell you, then nothing will.
After I posted my first blog entry, my little brother asked me what the poem posted there is about. He didn't know what the word 'sternutation' meant, for starters. (You have to understand that my little brother is on the cusp of earning his doctorate in Math. He's scary smart. I'm actually kinda flattered that he even read that blog entry) I told him that all poems are either about love or death, and that Sneezing is about both. Of course, that's a very generalized (and, as such, not quite truthful) statement. But it is always true that there is something of the human condition found in every poem. And what two enigmas embody better the human condition than love and death? Sure, the human condition can be written about in any form of literature, or even portrayed in music or movies. But nothing quite has the same impact as a poem. Like the compactness of a fist delivering a heavier blow than the open-handed slap, the brevity and packed in meaning of a poem alters its recipient far more than a drawn out explanation. That being said, please consider this my giving you a black-eye:
Meniscus
My brother studies the curve of the universe
in the fourth dimension, nearsightedly.
(No, no the world is flat. No, no
the world is round) He's getting
a doctorate. (Columbus sailed
the ocean blue in 1492) I study
human convexes: tears on cheeks, a
fingernail, and imagine my dreams as spherical.
My brother studies the curve of the universe
in the fourth dimension, nearsightedly.
(No, no the world is flat. No, no
the world is round) He's getting
a doctorate. (Columbus sailed
the ocean blue in 1492) I study
human convexes: tears on cheeks, a
fingernail, and imagine my dreams as spherical.
See what I mean? I pretty much just told you, in eight short lines, everything I said in all the previous paragraphs combined. Which was more powerful? If you don't like poetry, you probably shouldn't continue to read my blog. Just sayin'.
Thursday, January 31, 2013
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
Flip-flops are a type of shoe. That is all.
I know a guy who gets upset when people change their minds. He thinks politicians are wishy-washy if they reverse their opinions. He points to a money trail when organizations rethink their policies. He believes that people should stick to what they believe. I get what he's saying. But here's the deal: it's not that simple. In fact, the most intelligent people I know carry around conflicting paradigms and embody those paradigms' constantly fluctuating harmonization.
Polarized thinking seems to be our current society's downfall. Hence, a fiscal cliff over which a bridge was not built nor from which lemmings leaped. Politicians kicked the can down the road. And what choice did they have but to do so? To represent their constituencies, politicians have to be hard-nosed liberals or stubborn conservatives. Even a mere glance toward the middle, or God forbid, the other side, and there's a mass exodus from their support base. But if we could peel back scalps and peer into, perhaps not the thoughts themselves, but the processes that form them, I think we'd see that nobody is truly as flat as paper. We're all more dimensional than that. We believe in contradicting values. We make exceptions to our own rules based on circumstance. We do things we never dreamed ourselves capable of doing, both good and bad. It's the people who realize themselves to be so 'hypocritical' who can harmonize their thinking without ridding themselves of the dimension and produce rational ideas. They're people like Juan Williams, writing in Muzzled about how political debate is stifled by political correctness. And earlier, Rhana Reiko Rizzuto, redefining what it means to be a mother in Hiroshima in the Morning. And here, I'm going to be pretentious, and voice that I have no affinity for either of these people, but that while I disagree with them, personally, I see the value in what they have to say and I do agree with them, philosophically. I attempt to put into practice the harmonization of which I'm speaking. I attempt to be one of the intelligent, to see the thing for what it really is. Does this mean that I'm not holding to my belief system? I don't think so.
Polarized thinking seems to be our current society's downfall. Hence, a fiscal cliff over which a bridge was not built nor from which lemmings leaped. Politicians kicked the can down the road. And what choice did they have but to do so? To represent their constituencies, politicians have to be hard-nosed liberals or stubborn conservatives. Even a mere glance toward the middle, or God forbid, the other side, and there's a mass exodus from their support base. But if we could peel back scalps and peer into, perhaps not the thoughts themselves, but the processes that form them, I think we'd see that nobody is truly as flat as paper. We're all more dimensional than that. We believe in contradicting values. We make exceptions to our own rules based on circumstance. We do things we never dreamed ourselves capable of doing, both good and bad. It's the people who realize themselves to be so 'hypocritical' who can harmonize their thinking without ridding themselves of the dimension and produce rational ideas. They're people like Juan Williams, writing in Muzzled about how political debate is stifled by political correctness. And earlier, Rhana Reiko Rizzuto, redefining what it means to be a mother in Hiroshima in the Morning. And here, I'm going to be pretentious, and voice that I have no affinity for either of these people, but that while I disagree with them, personally, I see the value in what they have to say and I do agree with them, philosophically. I attempt to put into practice the harmonization of which I'm speaking. I attempt to be one of the intelligent, to see the thing for what it really is. Does this mean that I'm not holding to my belief system? I don't think so.
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
'Archipelago' is my second favorite word.
Islands. A group of them together. They're not alone, but they are separate. Each has its own landscape, its own view of the sunrise. Perhaps each even has its own inidigenous people with imperceptibly different dialects from the that of the other indigenous people on the other islands nearby. But I am not part of an archipelago. I am a boat that continuously and monotonously circles the islands. My identity is only in relation to the position of my orbit. Because I am a mother and being a mother is my only career.
I am a classic case of Betty Friedan's problem that has no name. I can name all of the things that are not the problem: being a wife, being a mother, staying at home, cleaning house, perparing meals, organizing playdates, reading stroybooks, volunteering at the elementary school. Yet, I am unfulfilled. In The Feminine Mystique, Friedan concludes her first chapter as follows: "We can no longer ignore that voice within women that says: 'I want something more than my husband and my children and my home.'" And I do.
Friedan, writing in the 50's and 60's, suggested that women solve the unnameable problem by continuing on with higher education to obtain worthy careers, not just part-time secretarial work. She is credited with sparking second-wave feminism. And since her time, the ideals of femininity have changed in many positive ways, opening up all sorts of opportunities for women. However, her solution cannot apply to me.
First, I have a college education. I would actually argue that having an education furthers the complexity of the problem that has no name. The more of my potential I realize to exist, the more I'm aware of how far I'm falling short. Ignorance is bliss, after all. Second, having a career at this time in my life is not an option. In the face of a society that doesn't care at all about what I do everyday as a stay-at-home mom, I find immense value in what I do, as boring and mind numbing as it is. I often wonder whether the problem that has no name wouldn't be resolved completely were society to truly value women who do what I do, but as time marches on, society seems to care less and less about the family as an institution so I won't be holding my breath in anticipation. I wish that the value I see in my own work would somehow make that work fulfilling, but it doesn't. I am still not part of the archipelago.
So, what am I to do? After a lengthy and meaningful discussion with my husband, I came up with a plan to form my own, new identity while continuing in my chosen occupation.
1. I will do something I want to do everyday. Right now, this thing happens to be posting to this blog. Once necessary tasks are completed for the day (and I mean *necessary*), I focus solely on the want. It's interrupted multiple times with my children's needs, of course, but I don't give up on it until it's done.
2. I will not worry about whether or not my house is clean. This is not to say that I will not clean my house. In no way will I be transferring any of my own workload onto the income provider of the family. I will do everything I always do, but in my own good time. If I don't feel like doing the laundry and the laundry can wait until tomorrow, it will. If I need a nap, the crumbs on the floor and the piles of toys will stay. It sounds very simple, but before I made this conscious choice to care less, I was constantly beating myself up for being 'lazy' and not getting things done when reality was that my expectations of myself, my resentment for the chores that were sucking away my life, and my guilt over putting things off were paralyzing me from getting anything done to begin with.
3. I will figure out what it is that I want. Because I don't have to worry about making money, I have the unique opportunity to go back to school or take unpaid internships or do volunteer work in pursuit of a career I would like to have when my children are older. I can literally do anything I want. I just have to figure out what that is. Spending more time thinking about the future will ease the painful boredom of the present. I don't believe in living in the moment when the moment makes me want to take five bottles of pills, lie down in a full bath, and slit my femoral artery.
I'm on Day 2 of the plan. I have no idea whether or not it will be successful. Guess we'll find out together.
I am a classic case of Betty Friedan's problem that has no name. I can name all of the things that are not the problem: being a wife, being a mother, staying at home, cleaning house, perparing meals, organizing playdates, reading stroybooks, volunteering at the elementary school. Yet, I am unfulfilled. In The Feminine Mystique, Friedan concludes her first chapter as follows: "We can no longer ignore that voice within women that says: 'I want something more than my husband and my children and my home.'" And I do.
Friedan, writing in the 50's and 60's, suggested that women solve the unnameable problem by continuing on with higher education to obtain worthy careers, not just part-time secretarial work. She is credited with sparking second-wave feminism. And since her time, the ideals of femininity have changed in many positive ways, opening up all sorts of opportunities for women. However, her solution cannot apply to me.
First, I have a college education. I would actually argue that having an education furthers the complexity of the problem that has no name. The more of my potential I realize to exist, the more I'm aware of how far I'm falling short. Ignorance is bliss, after all. Second, having a career at this time in my life is not an option. In the face of a society that doesn't care at all about what I do everyday as a stay-at-home mom, I find immense value in what I do, as boring and mind numbing as it is. I often wonder whether the problem that has no name wouldn't be resolved completely were society to truly value women who do what I do, but as time marches on, society seems to care less and less about the family as an institution so I won't be holding my breath in anticipation. I wish that the value I see in my own work would somehow make that work fulfilling, but it doesn't. I am still not part of the archipelago.
So, what am I to do? After a lengthy and meaningful discussion with my husband, I came up with a plan to form my own, new identity while continuing in my chosen occupation.
1. I will do something I want to do everyday. Right now, this thing happens to be posting to this blog. Once necessary tasks are completed for the day (and I mean *necessary*), I focus solely on the want. It's interrupted multiple times with my children's needs, of course, but I don't give up on it until it's done.
2. I will not worry about whether or not my house is clean. This is not to say that I will not clean my house. In no way will I be transferring any of my own workload onto the income provider of the family. I will do everything I always do, but in my own good time. If I don't feel like doing the laundry and the laundry can wait until tomorrow, it will. If I need a nap, the crumbs on the floor and the piles of toys will stay. It sounds very simple, but before I made this conscious choice to care less, I was constantly beating myself up for being 'lazy' and not getting things done when reality was that my expectations of myself, my resentment for the chores that were sucking away my life, and my guilt over putting things off were paralyzing me from getting anything done to begin with.
3. I will figure out what it is that I want. Because I don't have to worry about making money, I have the unique opportunity to go back to school or take unpaid internships or do volunteer work in pursuit of a career I would like to have when my children are older. I can literally do anything I want. I just have to figure out what that is. Spending more time thinking about the future will ease the painful boredom of the present. I don't believe in living in the moment when the moment makes me want to take five bottles of pills, lie down in a full bath, and slit my femoral artery.
I'm on Day 2 of the plan. I have no idea whether or not it will be successful. Guess we'll find out together.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)