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November 16:  Loving Subversion Makes Me Better

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NaBloPoMo 2019

Friends, do you already follow Seth Godin’s blog?  His post from Thursday stirred something a little irreverent in me.  It was about ‘allies and accomplices’:

To be an ally means that you won’t get in the way, and, if you are able to, you’ll try to help.

To become an accomplice, though, means that you’ve risked something, sacrificed something and put yourself on the hook as well.

We need more allies, in all the work we do. Allies can open doors and help us feel a lot less alone.

But finding an accomplice–that’s an extraordinary leap forward.

I thought immediately about my fellow Better Angels volunteers.  We have all committed time, talent, and treasure to the depolarizing of America.  We do it in public, in front of audiences and cameras, to reporters and members of our communities.  We openly challenge the prevailing culture of ad hominem, oversimplification, and overgeneralization.  We all come to it from our own internal optimism and hope.  But in the face of entrenched polarization and a culture of self-protection above all, we could never make any headway as individuals.  It is only together—as mutual accomplices—that we can truly claim and exercise our collective agency.

I feel even more buoyed by Ozan’s latest post.  He describes a series of well-known studies showing that people will organize themselves into in-groups and out-groups with remarkable loyalty, even around random and arbitrary distinctions like taste in abstract art.  This, of course, carries grave and important implications for prejudice and discrimination.  Ozan then points to two exemplars of the opposite, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. and Barack Obama.  In their most famous orations (see links), these remarkable leaders speak directly to what unites us as the foundation for solving our problems, rather than what divides us.

MLK:  The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to a distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny. They have come to realize that their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom. We cannot walk alone.

Obama:  The pundits, the pundits like to slice and dice our country into red states and blue States: red states for Republicans, blue States for Democrats. But I’ve got news for them, too. We worship an awesome God in the blue states, and we don’t like federal agents poking around our libraries in the red states.  We coach little league in the blue states and, yes, we’ve got some gay friends in the red states.

I get goosebumps just reading the words.

It really feels like a loving subversion—of cynicism, scarcity, antagonism, and fear.

Who’s not better for that?

 

 

 

November 15: Smiling People Make Me Better

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NaBloPoMo 2019

Winter has set in here in Chicago. Oh well, this too shall pass. The kids were off from school today, so my morning exit was quiet and solitary. I drove along our alley, coming up behind on a slight female figure pushing a stroller. As I passed her, she looked up with a big smile and waved with an open, ungloved hand. She really seemed to look for eye contact with me, the unknown driver passing her. I had wished for the same, but had no expectations. In my pleasant surprise, I smiled back and nodded, one hand on the wheel, the other holding my coffee, which I raised in greeting. I had learned long ago that life in the big city is usually not this friendly.  She pretty much made my morning.

I’ve been thinking about it all day. How many times a day do we contact strangers? How often does a person on the street look at you, make eye contact, and smile? Or say hello? How often do you do this? Does it not just brighten your day, even a little? How does it feel when you pass a dozen people and nobody acknowledges your existence? The most fascinating is when someone looks at me, makes eye contact, expresses nothing whatsoever, then looks away and keeps walking.

I used to be much more judgmental of these behaviors and people. I may have even taken it personally in early adulthood. But now I’ve lightened up a little. I don’t think it’s about me. But it makes me wonder about people—what is it that closes us off from strangers? Based on people’s expressions, I tell stories that they are worried, anxious, angry, distracted, rushing, arrogant, oblivious, or just mean. I make it about them. But this is neither productive nor healthy. It just makes me resentful and less likely to smile at the next person I meet.

Every one of us is one of these things I listed at some point—I think I experience each of those states at least once every day. I apologize in advance if you meet me in one of these moments. So now I try to tell myself that everybody has a unique story of getting through life and the world. This attitude shift has done two things for me. 1) It makes me appreciate smiling people that much more. I notice the twinkle in someone’s eye, the dimples, the cheekbones, the sterling white and/or crooked teeth. I appreciate these joyful strangers and let their joy sink into me. 2) It makes me more, rather than, less, likely to look for eye contact with others. If you’re not having a good day, maybe I can make it better by seeing you and smiling. I do this especially when I see moms with little kids or babies. I remember those days (so hard!) and how reassuring it was when strangers smiled and looked at us lovingly.

That woman really did make my day.

Crossing the street on my way to the parking garage after work today, a car turned left in front of me. The driver had not seen me crossing until the last second. When we made eye contact I could tell he was apologetic. He mouthed, “Sorry,” and raised his left hand in a humble wave. I smiled that I understood, no harm done. Further down the sidewalk a couple walked quickly in the cold, coming toward me. The very tall man marched in front, apparently focused on his destination behind me. His female companion came a couple steps behind. I smiled, and she smiled back—big! She had on a puffy black faux fur coat, a stylishly coordinated black fuzzy hat, nicely coifed hair jutting out from underneath, and neat, metal-framed eyeglasses that complemented her round, friendly face. I think she even said hello. My mood was definitely better for having passed them.

I’ve been in a great mood all day, maybe because of these strangers.

I think we profoundly underestimate the impact we all have on one another, positive and negative, in our smallest interactions. A genuine smile from a stranger on the street can really make your day better. When you smile at me, it makes me smile back at you, and vice versa, obviously—but the best thing about it is that we are both better off for it. That’s how joy works, I think—it doesn’t matter who starts it. It just grows wherever it is, and expands exponentially with each person who shares it.

So here’s to smiling people. You make me better. May I always smile back at you and keep the pageant of joy alive and well.

November 14:  Playing Piano Makes Me Better

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Uncle Kawai 2011

NaBloPoMo 2019

Friends, do you play an instrument?

There is just something about music, no?  It’s transcendent.

I started playing piano late, at age 11.  There were two stores, at opposite ends of the mall, which sold pianos.  Our family made multiple round trips one weekend, listening to salesmen play the ebony Yamaha upright at one place, then the walnut Kawai upright at the other.  It had taken me a year, but I finally committed to practicing daily, and my parents agreed to invest in a good instrument.  I knew instantly that it must be the Kawai.  Somehow it took the ‘rents a few more tries (I was very patient—the stakes were high, as I was the one who had to play it) before they finally agreed.  I have always loved that piano.

Into high school, practice flagged often.  But I kept my commitment until volleyball and AP classes took over the waking hours of life.  By then my sisters had started playing, so I was let out of my contract early.  Looking back, it was only a slog at the beginning of any practice session.  Sitting down begrudgingly, intending to play for the minimum required time, I always stayed longer, feeling more relaxed and just a little more accomplished when I stood back up.  I did not realize it at the time, but playing piano soothed me.  Thankfully my mom pointed it out at some point, and I appreciated the experience that much more.

I was never a very good pianist.  Reading music was never easy or natural.  I had no patience to master music theory.  But I saved the music for certain pieces that I loved—Fur Elise, Pachelbel’s Canon in D (played to accompany the Mixed Choir singing The First Noel my sophomore year), and a Sonatina by Clementi.  Still, I did not play for at least 20 years.

My son wanted to play trumpet.  I waited.  Then he wanted to play violin, and I waited some more.  How about piano?  YES.  No mall, no local piano store.  But there was one place in a suburb close to church.  We went to see the cherry upright that I saw on the website.  It looked shabby and sounded terrible.  Looking around the crowded front showroom, no other pieces appealed to me in the least.  There was one walnut Kawai baby grand…  The sound was full, round, and resonant, like a true Kawai.  But it was outside of my price range.  The salesman looked at me a while, as if discerning something.  Then he took me to the back, where another Kawai baby grand stood in the corner, an ebony one.  Recently refinished, you could still see water rings and long, shallow cracks in the wood of the music shelf.  The bottom edge of the key bed had a series of almond-shaped dents, as if it had slid down a flight of stairs once.  It took about five seconds after hearing it played for me to buy it, cash.

Since 2011 our house has enjoyed the sounds of children learning to play music on Uncle Kawai.  The tuner said it was made in 1969, and the keys had never been eased.  Apparently Uncle had never had a home where he could showcase his full potential.  He was waiting for us.  Over the years I have occasionally sat down, pulled out my old sheet music, practiced a few minutes here and there.  Never enough time, always something else I had to go do.

This summer I finally undertook to learn Canon in C, which both kids have now played.  It’s a short, exceedingly simple variation on the theme, and yet sublimely beautiful to hear.  It’s even more glorious to play first-hand.  Even over the parts where I always stumble on the fingering, even though Uncle really needs another tuning, playing these two pages of music calms me, gives me joy, in a way no other activity can.

*sigh*

I’m always better when I’m calm and happy.