Not into Thrill Rides

I always thought that if I wrote for a living (in those rare moments short on self-consciousness) I'd write fiction. People say you are supposed to write what you like reading most--and I find the right novel ranks among one of earth's greatest pleasures.

But the person I am now probably couldn't write fiction. I can't bear to let things unfold on their own--a characteristic that makes me unbearable company for film-watching. I must know what comes next.

Woe is the man who has seen the movie when I haven't and knows what happens when I don't.

My friend Dave talks about his ultimate adventure being a roll-the-dice roadtrip. He thinks one should get up in the morning with the map and roll to see whether to go North, South, East, West, or to stay put. Another die says how long to drive and how long to stay.

When I consider this, my heart races in panic. Where do we start? Where do we stay? What do we eat? When do we stop for gas? When will we stop at all? What if we go too far? What if we get lost? How do we get home? How much will this cost?

That is not an ultimate adventure. That is an ultimate nightmare.

Right now, I feel fiction's departure from reality as a weighty responsibility--make that liability. Even if I "write from real life" (as everyone is advised), I still must launch characters from the known shore. But doing that means I don't know they'll be able to get back. Maybe good fiction doesn't care if it gets lost at sea, but I won't risk sailing off the edge of the earth.

It's not worth it to me.

The actual writing of the fiction, to me, bears the same horror as Dave's ideal vacation.

And I don't think it is supposed to.

Life Lessons

21. No matter how single you are, the bars are not an option. The only people there are desperate and diseased.
22. Sometimes the light at the end of the tunnel is an oncoming train.
23. Just because there is collective circle swaying does not mean you have to sing Kumbaya.
24. If you look around the room and you can't figure out who the George W. Bush is, it is you.
25. There is nothing like a Kosovar high-five.
26. No matter how tempting, there is no holding hands at Dachau.
27. The day that you've been drinking and there is a crisis and you're in charge, no matter what, you're going to jail.
28. One man's evangelist can be another man's terrorist.
29. If you have to add the word "democratic" to your nation's name, you probably aren't.
30. Corollary to # 29: If you have to assure people you aren't judging, you probably are.

On Neighbors

A sage friend of mine has done a series of posts this week on Thoreau, and before commenting, I want to express my gratitude.

Not raised with a profound appreciation for the Transcendentalists (they're clever phrase-turners but wacky, self-absorbed, impractical men), I am always so delighted when someone reminds me of how good they are. I have a friend, who, for years has championed Emerson, especially his early discussions of prayer, and now I work with someone whose (invisible) daily t-shirt reads "I'd rather be at Walden." It's not only my sage friend's contemplative posts for which I am grateful, but his commitment to pursuing what is Good--and what makes him Good.

He says, " I read one of Dan Brown's books over the Christmas break--Angels and Demons. And I'll say about it what I said after reading The DaVinci Code: Dan Brown is good with suspense and plot, but he's not much of a craftsman when it comes to prose. But now, I want to add this: Did reading either of these books improve my life in any way? Did they inspire me to greatness? Did they show me any truth about my life, or about the human condition? Did they help me to understand anything about myself and my relationship to the world?

Of course, the answer to all of these questions is no.

And of course, the answer to this problem is to choose your friends wisely, and to spend time (and effort) developing the relationships in your life that matter."

I had a conversation with my little sister tonight about why we don't watch / listen to / read junk. She had tried to show me a YouTube video with a parody song for "Snakes on a Plane." It came from my brother who watches an enormous amount of TV, has only ever read 4 books, and listens to everything; sometimes it seems his only criterion is "The coarser the better." I resent his ability to mold my sister into his likeness--a poster-child for Thoreau's "underbred and low-lived and illiterate..."

With my sister, I am free to speak in terms of a common faith that I don't really share with my brother. At fifteen, she possesses a passion for truth, a desire to know God, and a human compassion that belies her age. That she might become mired in YouTube (at best) poses and urgent crisis--one that makes me examine my drive to "find the art in everything." With Megan, I could easily say, "We avoid this stuff because God tells us to," and her concern for living rightly wouldn't need much more of an explanation. But she deserves more than that--we both do--as YouTube and "Will.I.Am" threaten to devour her.

I think about giving her Thoreau, but I remember I have something a little more meaningful. While I am so pleased by the excerpt from Thoreau that reminds me how to live rightly, I forgot I already had excerpts that practically teach us to do this.

We pursue Homer, Michelangelo, Madison (Federalist Papers), and Haydn because we are directed to:

St. Paul urges the Philippians, "Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things... And the God of peace will be with you."

Also, he urges the Thessalonians, "Test everything. Hold on to the good. Avoid every kind of evil."

While I put these verses in my brain in something like 5th grade, I only recently saw freedom and direction in them.I am stuck here at how relevant the specific passages of the bible are. (I probably wouldn't have been so startled by this, but I have spent the last 6 months or more wrestling with a paralyzing practical agnosticism worthy of a dozen posts.)

I was raised with a contempt for the Trancendentalists because their humanism and "Oversoul" theology is out of line with my God-centered, spiritually specific one. But I need to read Plato. I need to read Madison. I need to read Donne and Dostoyevsky. I need to read these because they are right and noble and excellent, even if we aren't in perfect agreement. Thoreau's pursuit of meaningful neighbors is meaningful to me.

Here is what startled me: I am meant to be, by tradition and habit, odds with Thoreau, while the Thoreauvians are at even greater odds with traditional Christian teachings. Yet, they match!

I am free to read everything and only keep what is good. And I am not just free, I am required to. Herein lies an even great direction for living rightly.

Shortly before Jesus is crucified, he fervently prays for his disciples in the upper room, "My prayer is not that you take them out of the world but that you protect them from the evil one. They are not of the world, even as I am not of it. Sanctify them by the truth; your word is truth. As you sent me into the world, I have sent them into the world. For them I sanctify myself, that they too may be truly sanctified."

Those who follow Christ are meant to be in the world, but not of it--quite the familiar Christian phrase.

It is in pursuit of this ideal--being in the world but not being a part of it-- that has us pursuing genuine touchstones of culture in order to guard against the toll taken by YouTube and Snakes on a Plane. We stay away from things that anchor us IN the world that are of it. We fill our lives with what is good because only this reflects the true nature of our God.

Those familiar with the directions of the Bible recognize that we follow them not because we fear judgment if we don't, but because they are what brings true life and peace.

Thoreau criticizes society because its complications and materialism do not bring life. This is not new to Christians, it is orthodoxy.

And this leaves the distinct possibility that the path to sanctification is through Walden's woods.

Holding Pattern

Some days I feel like I am on a long flight home. Where I've been was great, but where I'm going is better. Only instead of landing when I think I'm supposed to, Air Traffic Control put my plane in a holding pattern.

Now, half the time I am actually flying away from home. I know Air Traffic Control can see all the weather and all the planes and all the runways better than I can, and I'm glad this keeps me safe, but..

I'm aggravated. I am not supposed to be still on the plane. Now I'm flying in long circles so I don't even know how far away I am.

I'm lucky, at least, to have a charming seat partner with whom I'm having brilliant conversation. In any other circumstances, I'd be savoring every minute of it.

But I am cramped and hungry and my delight is tainted by how much I just want to land and get off the plane.

Students and Teachers and Spring

The Trees

The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.

Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.

Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.

Philip Larkin (1922 - 1985 / England)

George Herbert

This week I have been startled by my own unadulterated delight.

It helps that my delight spends the weekends and evenings following me from room to room to room for no reason other than to be near me.

I grew up in a house full of dogs and kids, but I have only briefly ever owned a dog before George Herbert. (I had one in highschool who died 2 months after I got her). My whole life, the family dogs always chose other siblings for their owners. Somehow, no matter how much I am gone, no matter how messy I am, how sensative, awkward, or posessive I am, this critter still considers me his owner. I belong to him.

George does this thing where he flops his furry self at my feet and sleeps. If I stand up for even a moment--to move 12 feet from my sofa to pour the brewing coffee--he hoists his sleepy self up, plods after me, and harumphs onto the kitchen's tile floor. He stays as long as I pour the coffee, I go back to the couch and so does he, same hoisting and harumphing. For him, this has to be an excruciating 24 feet, but he does it because I do.

My dad got this picture while George was peeking to make sure I was still there. This is his response to the question, "Where's George?" He loves it when I "find him."

I can't believe I am the one who gets to be his favorite.

Senioritis

I had my last Youth in Government meeting last night with my officers. We selected a new group last night, but more than a step forward, these elections marked my first great loss of this graduating class. This is my first senior goodbye--and I am heartsick. I think maybe I am not supposed to be this bothered by their departure.

This sentiment probably betrays my age. This is my first set of seniors I have known all four years. I even had a few of them, in one form or another, since they were freshman. Furthermore, these four years have been the only four I have ever worked out of school--and ironically it has been in one. Sometimes I notice I have followed the same coming-of-age path in my teaching career--freshman, sophomore, junior, and with my move to MVA, sophomore again. I don't feel I'll reach senior anytime soon, because I will still be in school while they move on.

Last night was the first time I had to come to terms with the fact that these kids--who represent significant time and effort and love and dedication over the last few years--are leaving. I tried to console myself by thinking that my attachment, and therefore sense of loss, was a function of this post-university-in-high school-first-job-ever circumstance. Unfortunately, I don't think this is it.
Perhaps I am missing the protective detachment that comes with experience, but I doubt even that would overcome the affection I have for these students who are going to be great people.

Christina, my secretary-turned-vice-president, is one of the first students I ever had. I taught her first period her freshman year and kept track of her since. She is--truly--always up for anything, and those who follow her are sprinting to keep up. She has this insurmountable enthusiasm which blazes through the most boring tasks. Combined with her startling ferocity, her sense of humor makes participants out of the most unwilling. If anyone needs a cold glass of truth thrown in his face, it will likely come from her.

Casey, my chapter president, is an extraordinary young woman. She has this deep conviction to her principles and an unwavering moral compass. She speaks directly and truthfully (if not a little painfully sometimes) but her relationships are marked by a tender loyalty. I have met few people who understand as well how to be a true servant leader. She leads like Jesus did--really--where she makes friends and family out of her followers and makes serving them more important than any preservation of power. When I watch her work, I am so proud of her.

I am looking forward to training a new set of officers, because like Legos, the act of building something is more meaningful than the thing itself. But I can't picture what Youth in Government will be without these girls who have been my whole experience.

Likewise, what will I do when some of my most precious seniors graduate from MVA? Heavier than the weight of normal goodbyes is the loss of those people who have defined my whole experience here. My time has been short, sure, but it has been my whole time.

I keep thinking that this is only a microscopic version of what parents must feel, which gives me a great appreciation for those people who found themselves signed up for that.