Fear

My wife sent me a great post to read.  Go to this link and read it, and I also recommend reading the comments (which I seldom do).  When you're done come back here.

Okay, wasn't that awesome?  I felt it was an incredibly personal way of stating FDR's famous truism:

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.

Take that in.  Because I am, and I have been scared my whole life, of what people think, of looking stupid, of being embarrassed, or ashamed.  And now I'm in my forties, and like the writer of that post, I know I am not doing what I am meant to do.  So now I am going to say it.

(The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.)

I want to be a writer.  I have wanted to be a writer all of my life.

Yeah, I know, duh, you're writing right now, so you are a writer.

Let me clarify.  I want to be a work all day in a cafe, live by my imagination, see the world, drink coffee on the Left Bank kind of writer, at least metaphorically speaking.  I want to be free to tell the stories I want to tell the way I want to tell them.

(The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.)

So yeah, I have a job, and a mortgage, and responsibilities, and I am not about to quit and live off of credit cards and Ramen noodles.  I am going to go to work and be the best classroom scheduling manager I can be, and I am going to take care of my house and my mortgage and my family, the best way I can.

But I am also going to write stories.  Because I can.

You heard it.  The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.

There is a Way to be Good Again

The title of this post is the mysterious promise made by an old family friend to Amir, the guilt-ridden protagonist of Khaled Husseini's first novel, The Kite Runner.  

(Yeah, I know, everyone has read and written about this already.  So I'm late to the party, bear with me, okay?)

I'm not going to summarize or spoil anything about this wonderful novel, so you can read without fear.  Husseini's tale is fundamentally a redemption story, and reading it has me thinking a lot about the power that redemption holds over us.  I finished the book a week ago, and in the meantime read Cormac McCarthy's Pulitzer Prize-winner, The Road, which also has redemptive elements, though less overt than The Kite Runner.  However, establishing themselves as "the good guys" becomes very important to the two main characters of The Road.

So then, why redemption?  What is the attraction of atoning for past mis-deeds?  It is not purely the Christian concept of sin, as the author and characters of The Kite Runner are all Muslims.  No, it is the recognition in all of us that we are not saints.  We can all do more to make the world better, and too often, we don't.  A redemption story is a fictional method whereby the reader is redeemed, merely by absorbing the story.  

But that doesn't really redeem us, does it?  We are only redeemed by being inspired by the redemption story to go out into the world and actually living the redemption story.  It can be by volunteering to help the less fortunate, or working to further the greater good, or simply living a kinder life of greater generosity and compassion.  Studies have shown repeatedly that people who help others feel better themselves, and who doesn't want that?  I am constantly amazed at my own inconsistency in simply being aware of situations where I could commit a nice or supporting act.  But that doesn't mean I don't or that I won't do more.  I am living my redemption story, in the end.

Aren't we all?

Three Reviews

Victoria and I sat down Saturday night to watch a movie, and we put in Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. I love Indiana Jones movies, I have the first three on DVD, and I hate people who don't give movies a chance.

I don't know if we made it past the first thirty minutes. It was terrible. And not because Harrison Ford is old, either. It just wasn't Indiana Jones. The movie is set in 1957, and the bad guys are the Soviets. It involves Roswell, and aliens, and there's a nuclear bomb test. And none of it felt, looked, or sounded like an Indiana Jones movie. The wisecracks all fell flat, the action was dull, and the omnipresent CGI just increased the artificiality of it all. Early George Lucas movies relished in their on-location filming, and that helped the first Star Wars trilogy and the Indy movies a lot. I don't know if they bothered with the two hours it takes to go to Nevada to film, but if they left a soundstage I'd be shocked. The less said about this travesty the better.

Sunday afternoon I went to see Watchmen with two friends. I loved Watchmen as a comic book, buying it in monthly installments when it was first released, and I've read it many times. It is one of my favorite, if not my very favorite, comic-book story, and I was concerned how the movie would turn out.

I am very pleased. I could pick some nits, but the film captures the comic book's tone and themes as well as anyone could expect. The acting, from a mostly unknown cast, is a little uneven, but mostly good, and Jackie Earle Haley's portrayal of the iconic crimefighter Rorschach is memorable.

I think what pleases me the most is, even though the film is very violent, and portrays a harsh, even cruel, world, the underlying message that every single human life is a miracle, an existence born out of astronomical odds, and therefore worth defending. The filmmakers used the comic's dialogue whenever possible, it seemed, and even used the art as camera frames, so that Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons' vision is fully realized. All of that said, Watchmen is not for everybody.

However, the real gem of the weekend was something else entirely. Sunday morning, Victoria and I watched a wonderful movie called The Visitor. It is about a widowed, Connecticut econ professor who, through a few random actions, becomes involved in the lives of an illegal immigrant couple, and befriends them. I won't go into the plot any further, but it is a really good movie, filled with authentic performances. The friendship that forms between the prof and the Syrian African-drum player, and the commonality they share in their love of music, is wonderful to behold. And when the Syrian's mother enters the picture, the prof and her forge a relationship that is understated and lovely.

It's a little movie about big things, like identity, and compassion, and it's beautiful.

A Dove with Claws

Once upon a time, the United States was a republic.  At the turn of the 20th century, the Spanish American War gave us Cuba and the Philippines, and a taste of empire.  That taste has not gone away, as we are now a full-fledged empire, with possessions spanning the globe, and the military entanglements that go with them.  And as we all know, there are no "good" empires.

These comments are to preface an article by one of my favorite anti-Empire writers, Tom Engelhardt.  He has a great blog called tomdispatch.com, and here is what he has to say today:

http://www.tomdispatch.com/post/175044

Honor

I remember saying once at a party, maybe twelve-fifteen years ago, that our generation's desire was to live our whole life just like we lived in college.  Everyone, laughed, and it was regarded as an insightful witticism.  It was true then, when we were facing thirty.  Is it true now?

I still find myself clinging to fantasies of a life of joyous irresponsibility.  I try to tell myself that it is freedom, not irresponsibility, that I fantasize about, but that's a lie.  Like it or not, as we form attachments in life, we become responsible for them, and to them.  It doesn't matter if the attachment is to a partner, a spouse, a pet, a child, a home, a way of life, we have responsibility for that attachment, a duty, an honorable duty, to treat that attachment with respect, to nurture that attachment, and to add value to that which we are attached.

It is the fantasy that says that our attachments don't need that respect, nurturing, or value.  Our attachments are organic things, and they need attention to prosper.  Committing to someone, or something, and not giving it your attention is like planting a vegetable garden, and not watering it, but still expecting to reap in it's harvest.  You only reap what you sow if you do all the hard work in-between.

I thought I was very clever with that witticism, all those years ago.  I patted myself on my back, and my friends did, too.  I think most of them learned to move on, though.  I didn't.  I spent many more years clinging to the irresolute life of a mediocre college student.  It gave me a good excuse to drink too much, eat junk food, and accomplish nothing.  

I'm married now, to the right woman, with a house, a job of some responsibility, even pets.  It's taken time, but the dishonorable life of a mediocre college student is no longer for me.  Now it's the not the bar, but the kitchen that I look forward to after a hard day's work.  It's not the latest blockbuster release, but the simple pleasure of tending to the details of my life that I will look forward to on the coming weekend.

We get water in our basement, and when it pours the water comes in pretty freely, in two places.  I dread those days, I get all anxious in my shoulders, and queasy in my stomach.  But now, facing Spring weather like it's the barrel of a gun, I don't feel that way, even though it is raining as I write this.  I feel liberated.  This is my house, and it is my honorable duty to care for it, and if that means digging up the shrubs and re-grading so that water stays out, then that is what it means.  It doesn't mean I won't worry, it just means I will embrace the challenge of solving problems, instead of the fear of the problems themselves.

My friends have a quote painted on the dining room walls, that speaks to the effect of "Doesn't this home deserve our love and compassion, our care and our creativity?"

The answer is a resounding yes.  As is does not my life, my wife, my home, my car, my pets, my being deserve love, understanding and care?  Do I not deserve those things?  Do I not desire them?  There is a belief that you only get in this life what you are willing to give.

I once was an immature ass, and I'll be damned if I'll be one again.  It's time to get to work.

March

I've always liked March, as a month.  I have no delusions about it, especially in Wisconsin.  It comes in like a lion and goes out like a pissed-off lion.  But there is enough green, or the promise of green, that I always feel like March is the month I turn the corner.  February is the end of the line; the terminal station of Winter's death march.  It is cold, and snowy, and dreary, and did I mention cold?  

But March is, well, hopeful.  The birds are singing in the morning, even with snow still on the ground.  I saw a rabbit out in the pre-dawn light this morning, having his morning breakfast.  March is windy, and cold, and damp, but the damp is the coming of Spring, so I'll put up with it.  The whole miserable lot actually makes me feel nostalgic, possibly for the northern European homes of my ancestors (central Ireland or the Rhine Valley, take your pick).  

March is the month you can get out, and re-acquaint yourself with your environment.  For the past three months (or more), you've been traveling from home, to car or bus, to work, and back again.  But there will be days, not many, but some, that you can get outside, and feel the sun and the breeze, and be glad of it, not repelled by it.  March has smells, while the months beforehand, don't.  

Not everyone likes March.  Victoria thinks it is mostly a cruel joke, promising Spring while delivering more of Winter.  I get that.  But in March, for the first time in months, I can feel like the glass is half-full, and that's enough.

Life in the Broken Places

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places." 

- Ernest Hemingway

Life is hard.  Or, I should say, a fulfilling life is hard.  It doesn't just happen to you, you have to work at it.  I like things easy, and since I was born an upper-middle class straight white male in the United States, I've had it pretty easy.  I've valued the avoidance of hard work, if results can be obtained by shortcuts and half-measures.

I've learned recently that I have a lot of bad habits in this area, along with a sense of entitlement to an easy life.  I've also learned recently that an easy life cannot really be enjoyed, just tolerated. 

The President isn't taking it easy.  I'm sure there are plenty of knowledgeable people who would tell him that he needs to fix the economy, then get universal health care, then develop a new energy strategy, then get us out of Iraq, then stabilize Afghanistan, then provide meaningful education to the nation's children.  So, is that what he is doing, taking the easy route, one small half-victory at a time?

Nope.  He was elected to do all of that, and he appears to have decided just doing one thing does not preclude doing all of the rest.  Poker analogies are popular these days, so the phrase I keep hearing is he's going "all in."  Like doing what he campaigned to do, what he promised to do, and what he was elected to do is the biggest risk in the world.  I think not doing all of that is the risk.  President Obama is not a man to settle.

If life is hard, if the "world breaks everyone," as Hemingway wrote, it educates us, too.  The hardships, the difficulties, and what we learn about ourselves when we face them are what give us life, what make us "strong in the broken places."

On a cold February day, when the challenges of both the world and our lives, can seem overwhelming, I'm trying to remember a few things.  One, what I choose to gain out of this experience is greater than difficulty of it; and two, I am not alone.  My life is not a kayak, with me paddling all by myself in the face of angry seas, but a outrigger, with as many people rowing as I choose to let in the boat.

My Grandfather and Obama's Speech

I have a framed photograph of my grandfather (my mother's father) on my bookshelf. It is a studio shot, I'm guessing from 1919 or 1920, right after he returned from France. He's dressed in his uniform, and looks very sharp and neat with his hair combed back. He fought with the Third Division, which according to his Victory Medal, fought in the Champagne-Marne, Aisne-Marne, St. Mihiel, Meuse-Argonne, and Defensive Sector. He's not wearing the medal in the photo.

I never knew him.  His name was James Patrick Grady, and he died almost fifty years ago, around this time of year.

He was in Company C, Fifth Field Signal Battalion, and ended the war with the rank of corporal. I have his helmet, his Victory Medal, the photo, another panoramic photograph of the devastated French countryside, and the Third Division's History from 1917 to 1919. There is a photograph of my grandfather stringing wire on page 286. Hand-written on the inside front cover is a short note, unsigned. The impression is that it was written on all copies of the History. It says, "The blue [on our emblem] is for our comrades who paid their all for America and the three white stripes are for the three major offensives that the Division took part in. The first was the Battle of the Marne. The second one is for the St. Mihiel offensive. The third is the one that can't many a lad's remember, is the Meuse-Argonne. We will never forget it." The handwriting is hard to read in some parts, but I've copied it as best as I can.

Does anybody remember World War I? The Third Division earned the nickname "Rock of the Marne" for their steadfastness in the Second Battle of the Marne, holding their ground while the French units on the flanks retreated, and repelling the Germans until the French regrouped. One of it's regiments was awarded the Croix de Guerre with Palm by the French for this action.

The Third Division spent 99 days on the front lines. Over two-thousand of them died there, and about ten-thousand were wounded.  That's almost half of their twenty-seven thousand men.  Imagine if our units in Iraq and Afghanistan lost men at that rate.  

The United States is a spoiled nation.  The prosperity that has seemed a given since our victory in World War II was built upon the work of generations before, who didn't get the GI Bill, or television, or fast food, or cell phones, or any of the conveniences we don't even think twice about.  We have been given it all, except any sense of responsibility for it.

But maybe that can change.  President Obama does feel the responsibility for it, as we've heard him talk about his grandfather's participation in Patton's Third Army in World War II.  And we saw that last night.  His speech can be summed up by a few words, "It's our problem, we can solve it, so let's get to it."

Or as his favorite comic book hero knows so very well, "with great power comes great responsibility."

Rowing Machine

A few weeks ago I started using a rowing machine at the gym.  I had been vaguely interested in it ever since I joined, but never used it.  My wife and I go to the gym together on Saturday mornings, and when we got there there was only one free elliptical trainer, so she suggested that I try the rowing machine.

I love it.

I'm not sure why I am more motivated by this machine more than by running, or using the elliptical, but there is something about it that is just more fun.  Maybe it's because the work is spread throughout more of the body, maybe it's just because you get to sit down.  

I realized this weekend that I was not using the machine quite right - I was using to much energy in my arms to pull, rather than letting my legs drive me.  On Saturday, after my elliptical workout, I spent a few minutes ironing out my form so that I would be more efficient.  Monday, I rowed 6000 meters, and felt fresher than I had a week before rowing 5000.  I practically skipped to the bus stop.  If you told me a year ago I would be giddy after a workout, I would have given you a begrudging "hah, right" and gone on to more serious things.  

My wife told me that once I started working out, it would make me feel better about myself, for all sorts of reasons.  She was right.  I am a very cautious person, and the success I have had with the rowing machine, and the way it makes me feel, is encouraging.  It makes me feel like I can take what I want to do more seriously, because I can accomplish whatever I set my mind to do.

Slumdog Smiling

I went to bed before the end of the Oscars last night, so I just found out who won the "big" awards, and I have a confession to make.

I don't really have any idea what Slumdog Millionaire is about.

I consume my RDA of poppy infotainment via the Internets, but I don't know if I've read or even seen a single review of it anyway in more normal outlets. Now, I have purposely not gone out of my way to find anything out about it - something tells me I should see it without any preconceptions about what it's about.

The other big movies are hard to ignore. Benjamin Button, with it's attachment to the Bradjolina hype machine. I thought one of Hugh Jackman's best lines last night was about how he was contractually obligated to mention them every five minutes. I used to live in San Francisco, so I had been keeping on eye on Milk for a long time, anyway. Then there's Doubt, which I'm sure is a fine movie, but with Meryl Streep and Philip Seymour Hoffman, the ET media was pushing the thespian angle harder and harder and harder. And that leaves Frost/Nixon, with two things that Hollywood just can't get enough of: Ron Howard and Watergate.

But somehow, Slumdog Millionaire stayed off of my radar. Danny Boyle is no stranger to me, I've seen four of his movies, and loved Trainspotting. I remember being disappointed when he left the fourth Alien movie.

But I have seen a couple of awards shows, and seen him interviewed on TV, and I can't say there's a bloke more deserving (I'm not English, nor do I live in England, but that guy's a bloke). My wife said after seeing him on the red carpet he just seemed like a happy, relaxed, positive guy, and it seems like he just really loved the whole experience of making Slumdog Millionaire, loved Mumbai, loved all the people he wouldn't have met otherwise. He just seems completely genuine about everything he was able to take away from it, and that makes me happy. And it shows that if you throw out a bunch of energy like that, unconditionally, you'll get it back in ways you might never dream of. I'm quite sure Danny Boyle didn't get his movie made by convincing suits it would be a prestige film, or even thought while he was making it or even after it was completely cut and finished, "this is going to win the Oscar." I think he just thought about telling the story he wanted to tell, in the way he wanted to tell it, and the rest was just gravy. You can feel the intensity of belief he felt in his project whenever he talks about it.

I don't really have any idea what Slumdog Millionaire is about, but that hasn't stopped it from making me feel, well, happy. I feel like smiling. I can't wait to see it.