Category: Self Reflection

Life’s Seasons

To everything there is a season,
    A time for every purpose under heaven:

A time to be born, 
    And a time to die;
A time to plant,
    And a time to pluck what is planted;
A time to kill,
    And a time to heal;
A time to break down,
    And a time to build up;
A time to weep,
    And a time to laugh;
A time to mourn,
    And a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones,
    And a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace,
    And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to gain,
    And a time to lose;
A time to keep,
    And a time to throw away;
A time to tear,
    And a time to sew;
A time to keep silence,
    And a time to speak;
A time to love,
    And a time to hate;
A time of war,
    And a time of peace.
 -Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8
This is as true today as it has been since it was written, centuries ago. There is a sadness to this passage, but also a comfort. It is a reminder that, if the season in which I find myself now is joyful and easy, it will not last. And if the season in which I find myself now is difficult, it will pass.

Life changes, and with it, we change. The things that used to satisfy us, the things we used to desire, we desire no more.  Things we did not used to understand, we now appreciate. We have all been told that one of life’s certainties is change. We have also been told that the more things change, the more they stay the same. I say the more things change, the more we confirm that the driving forces behind that change remain the same. Some things are universal beyond the basics of food and shelter: our desire to be understood, to be deeply connected to others, to be seen as who we are. I would propose that changes to our individual lives and to our society (present technological advances being a perfect example) are all efforts to achieve these desires.

So our lives are made up of chapters, each distinct. And while some are overwhelmingly happy and others disparaging difficult, I’d say that most are a unique combination of treasures and challenges. It’s easy enough to wish the hard ones away (and wish them good riddance when they’re over), but it’s much harder to stop and embrace the good chapters, or even the good moments of the mundane chapters. Advice abounds for surviving rough patches, most of it basically saying to just hang on; it won’t last forever. But what about advice for appreciating the moments of bliss? More importantly, how does one hang onto these moments? 

I suppose this is why people take pictures or videos, write journals, or create scrapbooks. We attempt to capture a moment in such a way that an image, a passage, or a sound will bring back the bliss of that moment. It’s as if we–I should say I–want to collect all the good stuff of life and put it somewhere to be accessed and enjoyed over and over. Sometimes we succeed in capturing these moments, but I would venture to say that even this is not enough. 

We don’t want to remember that moment, we want to return to it. We want life to be now just how it was then. We want to return to that chapter, that sweet spot, and stay. Right there. Not move.

Life will not comply with this desire, of course. And in the end, we wouldn’t want it to. How stale a life that would be if everything was always good and nothing ever challenged us, pushed us, stressed us. We know this. Our lives are made up of chapters. Each chapter, each time, will end, to be followed by another. That’s just the way it is. 

My challenge is to recognize each time as it comes, and to live it. If in nothing else, life will always be rich in change, both welcome and unwelcome. I will still try to capture the good moments, of course, because I do love my camera, and I do love the pen (keyboard?). But I will not pine for those moments. As a Christian, I know that life holds wonders and joy far greater than any collection I could store up, because there is much I do not yet know and much I have not yet seen. While I work to reach that life,  I will still appreciate the good times for what they are, be grateful for them, and when the time comes, let them go. 

The Modern World and Intuition Preferences Are Not Friends

The Modern World and Intuition Preferences Are Not Friends

It is the end of October in an election year. Like many people, I have spent far more time than I usually do reading political analyses and thinking about candidates, the issues our country is facing, its future direction, etc. No, this is not going to be another political post. It will, however, be an observation of the me who sits before the computer, reading some article or another, when the pressures of the day demand that she be doing something more actively productive (like blogging, perhaps).

One of the oldest personality assessments in the country is called the Myers-Briggs (MBTI). One of the spectra on it is sensing-intuition. This places people on a scale of highly preferring sensing (over-simply: detail-oriented) to highly preferring intuition (seeing the big picture first). I prefer intuition (I), if not highly. An inside joke among MBTI-ers is that someone who prefers “I” will be mid-sentence and suddenly say, “oh, look at that bird,” and their attention is suddenly transported away from the conversation. I can’t count the number of times that happens in a day — but my husband could probably tell you how many times, per conversation, that happens.

What’s my point? Oh yes, the point. Well, this is an age of information overload. Email, internet, magazines, good old TV and radio, billboards, yard signs, bumper stickers. In words and pictures, something is always demanding our attention, screaming at us its importance or desirability. And sure, some things are easy for us to ignore, especially if we don’t have an interest in them.

But what about things that pique our curiosity? Interesting things that aren’t evil or a waste of time per se, but don’t exactly help us accomplish our goals (professionally, spiritually, personally, etc)? (Those who are still students, of course, have the luxury of making the life of the mind a main priority in life.) These topics have some tangential relevance to our lives or our interests, and it is so easy to become distracted by them. For a consumer of words and writing, like yours truly, these things take on an allure that can make us push aside the more mundane yet necessary tasks before us. Result: we fall behind. (And as someone who prefers “J,” on the MBTI, I hate to fall behind. Very much a planner and check-lister, I am.)

So I can bemoan the information overload of modern day life–and then I can discipline myself to stay focused, efficient. In other words, I ought to buck up and carry on.

 But in a reflective moment, I have to ask: do I really want to live a life where I can leap, carefree, down the rabbit hole of words and ideas, with no regard for how long I’ll be there or how far it takes me? Do I want a life where every day starts with a nice hot cup of coffee or tea, and a couple hours to read spiritual reflections, the news, other things which are important but not urgent? A life that allows me to think about and discuss ideas for hours? For a month, maybe two, this would be heaven, in theory. But then the full picture emerges. What would disappear from my days for this to happen? I am a mother of young children and the wife of an amazing man. More time with books and ideas means less time hugging my children, laughing at the frankly hilarious things they say or do, less time trying to make my husband laugh, talking to him and discovering, these many years later, the person he is. It would mean less time caring for all of them, and doing things that matter to me, like my work, service at my church, maintaining friendships.

No, in the end, I choose my life. This is a chapter of life that holds fleeting treasures. My children will not always want so much time with me, and my health will not always be good. I am blessed to have this life, this time, and if the sacrifice I must pay is that a few [tens of dozen of] interesting books and articles have to go unread, then I will pay it, for the reward is priceless.

Dwelling in Possibility

“I dwell in possibility.”
-Emily Dickinson

I’ve always thought this quote was pretty enough, but I hadn’t identified with it until quite recently. Maybe it’s the springtime. The days are getting longer. Trees are budding and birds are singing and people are re-emerging from the layers of winter. It’s a time of graduations and moves. It’s the season of new beginnings.

Whatever it is, it distracts my already easily diverted mind. Suddenly, everything is a possibility.
“Why don’t I be a writer? I think I’ll quit my job and be a writer.”
“Why don’t I lose 30 pounds and become a serious athlete again, a warrior woman?”
“Why don’t we move to the southwest–New Mexico, perhaps?”

We all know people who’ve always known what they want their lives to be. Ever since middle school, they’ve known they wanted to be a teacher. A doctor. A singer. And they go out and live that life, despite difficulties and obstacles. What is it about them that makes them able to stick with their dreams–happily so?

Most of us aren’t like that. Most of us, during that decade after 18, struggle to pare down the possible livelihoods we envisioned for ourselves, and to name what it is we want out of life. We may start down one path, only to realize–better sooner than later–that it is not the path for us.

I’m well past that decade now, but I still ask these questions. When is changing one’s path the right thing to do? (Is there such a thing as “the right thing?”) When is it just being fickle? My dream of being a warrior woman, for example, would be one such frivolity. Much as I’d love to be strong, fast, and lithe, I would not choose to prioritize it enough to give it the hours and sweat that path would demand.

The choice to change paths is made difficult because the options are in fact much more balanced. It’s not, say, a matter of giving up on my current path because it has gotten too difficult or risky. (I am a firm believer that nothing worthwhile is easily gained, anyway.) In fact, one of the things that holds me back from following all those other possibilities is that there is nothing wrong with the path that I’m on. I have a job in which I feel l am doing good, worthy things. (Got to put that law degree, and the hours, sweat and tears that earned it, to some use after all!) The work is challenging but the hours are flexible. I can count on a paycheck and my employer contributes to my retirement (to be banally practical for a moment, and there’s nothing I am if not overly practical). More broadly, I love our home, our city, our friends here. Sure, there are things missing we always wish for–or things we wish were missing–but for the most part, we live content lives.

Neither is it a matter of choosing another path because it is clearly better. I’m not at all sure that I’d live a “better” life were I on a different path. Having never traveled it, I simply can’t know.  But maybe, possibly, it is better.  Maybe.

It may be instead a matter of wondering–always wondering–if I would find more fulfillment on a different path. Is this urge just a case of the grass being greener? Yes, I know no choice would be perfect. But would I be less easily distracted if I was doing something that captivated my interest a little more? Maybe. Or maybe Ms. Dickinson had it right. Maybe this is not a phase. Maybe I too will dwell, always, in possibility. Maybe that’s why spring remains my favorite season.

PS: Two days after I posted this, I saw the following saying, and couldn’t help but add to my earlier musings:

The grass is always greener
where you water it.

Well, yes, there’s much value in making your own happiness no matter what path you find yourself on, but if you’re privileged enough to have a choice in paths, what then?

Waves on my toes

Why do I want to write? Is it to make sense of the inspirations, insights, and demons that tumble through my mind each day? Is it a childish attempt to mimic the beauty that I’ve enjoyed as a reader of true writers? I’m not sure, but it’s an urge that has preoccupied me for months, and it has only grown with time.
So today I will start. Even the prospect of taking the first step thrills me. And frightens me. What can I possibly have to say that’s worth reading? And if and when I share my writing, will I have the skin to tolerate criticisms of it? For writing is not an objective thing. Writing fiction most certainly is not, and nonfiction may not be too different.  The kind of writing I want to start with is a door into my mind: my memories, my relationships, my perceptions, my beliefs. It exposes my inner life to the outer world. And even when it does not, some will believe that it does, and will misconstrue what I have written. But the fear of this is only the first such window into my thoughts. Revelation #1: Mariam does not like misunderstandings of any sort. On the other hand, Mariam loves clear communication, understanding, and world peace.
Misconstructions are unfortunate; disagreements with, or criticisms of, what I have actually said are altogether different. They challenge me to own who I am. The best piece of advice I ever received was in the third grade. My teacher’s wife, who used to invite us to lunch once a week, gave us this gem one day: just be yourself. Simple. Cliché even. But this advice has remained with me. As I see it, being myself—becoming myself—is growing up. At some point in youth, each of us becomes painfully aware of our weaknesses where others are strong, our inabilities where others are talented. And we spend a good part of our latter childhood (those regrettable years sterilely referred to as adolescence) disguising the ways in which we fall short. We spend no comparable amount of time or effort strengthening our gifts. And we all have them. I firmly believe that.  We just forget about them sometimes, that’s all. So what are you? Perceptive? Funny? Analytical? Kind at any cost? Able to talk to anyone? Athletic? Patient? Smart? Own it!
As I have grown older, life has taught me, repeatedly, but often gently, that it brings us contentment when we become more ourselves; when we embrace our gifts and let drift the hopes of becoming someone we are not. We mature also when we face our weaknesses and our shortcomings. Perhaps a temper, or extreme shyness, or an old shame might come to mind. When we begin to work on these things rather than trying to hide them or defend them, it is one way in which we grow. It is one way in which I can grow.
So perhaps this is why I write. Perhaps words are my chosen vehicle for becoming who I was made to be. Or perhaps, after all, being a writer is someone else’s gift, one I need to let pass.