behind the scenes

M's dance class is usually during the week but she had a make up day this past weekend and since I've never gotten to see her in action I wanted to be the one to go. Little did I know it would resemble some sort of demented popularity/election/who gets the most valentines on Valentine's Day process I endured in middle school.

First thing I notice as I sit outside the room in the viewing area is that M is the only one not wearing a little dress. She's got on sweats, J had supervised the dressing, this is what she always wears, he said.

All the other little girls are in little girl dance dresses. Ribbons in their hair. I notice but since M's never once said anything about needing a dress, not having a dress, I figured it was no big deal. One of the other moms sits down next to me. Which one is yours, she says. That one, I point proudly at M, her wild and unruly hair flying everywhere. Oh, she says. No dress then?

Three little words, no big deal but somehow they are. Well, I say, I am never the one to bring her, I had no idea everyone else wore a dress. She's never mentioned it. I suppose she would, she says. That one's mine. Adorned in dress and ribbons. She's cute, her kid.

I come to every class, she says. Are you fucking kidding me, woman? I think and instead I just say I'd love to but I have to work. I want to stupidly elaborate. I work in non profit. People who have no homes. Mmmhmmm, she replies and I look at her. I tell myself I'm going to be blogging this later so bring it on, chick. I bet you drive a gas guzzling SUV.

The class starts and let's just say ballet is never going to be M's thing. But she's having a great time and that's all that matters. After a few minutes the mom says do you practice with her outside of class? As she's talking I watch her kid, she looks like she belongs in some 70's era Maoist state run school, you know, the ones where they force the kids into these camps and work them 10 hours a day? Exactly like those kids. No, I reply. We don't really practice.

We practice every day, she says. Touche, I think and say well, she's only three and a half. (Her kid is obviously even younger but what the hell, I'm starting to get annoyed). Oh, mine just turned three, smug, she is. So I say I figured she was older, seems like wanting to practice every day would be something that might come later but maybe that's just me. My kid prefers you know, to play. If there was the equivalent of a kick in the shins I've just offered it, I'm petty and besides, you've been pissing me off for 10 minutes and if I had a gold star I'd give you one, your kid is so totally better at three year old ballet than mine and she's got a dress on too. That must feel really, really good. You've just won this bullshit competition. Like I said, I'm petty like that.

We don't exchange another word for the rest of the hour and that's just fine with me. But there was one point when a teacher didn't notice immediately that her kid's shoe was off and this woman almost came unglued. She's talking to the teacher through the wall but of course there is no sound. Fix her shoe, fix her shoe, she's agitated and coincidentally within seconds the teacher happens to notice and does. I lean farther in the other direction and wonder why I'm feeling so defensive, why I'd let any of this matter to me at all.

Part of me still stings so when the class is over I say to M I noticed everyone else has on a dancing dress and she says yeah and I so I ask her if she wants one and she says no, that's ok. But when I get home I tell J about the woman and I can't help saying it's worse than a reality show in that viewing room, the competi-mommies are hardcore and he replied I'm usually the only guy there so they all just sit in a pack and leave me alone. But you should have told me about the dresses, I reply and he looks at me sideways but I can't help the urge to make sure M is mothered in all the ways she needs to be and yet at the same time I realize this is more about me or better said more about others than it is about her and I wonder again why I let it matter, even for one minute, what someone I do not know decides to think about the way I parent my kid.

tug of war

I am not sure how to write this but am going to give it a shot. First, I wanted to mention that the shoe guy from yesterday IS staying at a shelter now, but I still consider him homeless because it's nothing long term and could change tomorrow.

Second, I want to explore something with you. When I read your lovely comments, the praise you so generously bestow parts of me feel awkward. I don't share these stories thinking I am going to get so much lovely feedback and it makes me wonder if I write in such a way that it somehow asks for it. If that is indeed the case let me state for the record that I Am Not Anything Special. (I mean sure, we are all special, blah de blah I saw Mr. Rogers I know the drill) but I share these stories because of them. Because that guy was so endearing and funny and human. I want to share bits of them with you because they touch me in such deeply profound ways.

I have said it before: I have never met more beautiful people than the ones I do through my work. Over the years I have endless stories of kindness and generosity. Of humor and resilence and faith. Of how I've been humbled a thousand times by the strength of a single mom, or an elderly man, or a guy with no shoes. Of how I have people sleeping outside tell me how much how God loves them. And they have absolutely nothing to be (in my selfish, jaded opinion) to be thanking God for and yet their faith is strong. One of many reasons I have so much to still learn and they have so much to teach.

And you know, the part of me that isn't hiding behind a rock loves your praise. I read your comments more than once. I start to believe you. But Ego is a slippery slope, and sometimes I can feel like I am doing enough when I am really not doing much at all.

So I also want you to tell me what my shoeless friend did, because there are still homeless people everywhere and maybe we are doing a shitty job. Because I agreed with him the other day. It's not enough, shoes and a nurse. A cot on the floor. It's nowhere near enough. They are the heroes, the ones who survive everyday life with little more than a nickel in their pocket. They are the ones who deserve the praise for simply making it through another day, a long day of being mistreated and moved in circles and being stepped over. I doubt I'd last a day on the streets, my middle class whiteness would certainly self-destruct.

And lastly, thank you for listening. For allowing me to again and again bring homelessness to the table. For giving me a space to talk about these encounters and experiences that I've never before had a forum for. It's meant more than you know.

Now tell me to shut the hell up and get back to work.

survival of the Iddist

Chani asked me to further expand on the post I wrote last week - how I viewed the role of ego in our culture and in my own life.

I had to take a few days to think about it, because, well, ahem...... It Had To Be Good. Enough said about my own ego.

While I used the word ego in my earlier post to describe what we commonly think of as ego; I have always gravitated more to the concept of the Id, the Ego, and the Superego. Freud theorized that the Ego is the balance of the other two polar opposites, the one that is supposed to keep us in check while occasionally setting us free and yet still getting kicked in the head. While I can't say I subscribe to Freudian thought, I have always thought that this concept does a terrific job at characterizing our ongoing struggle for balance. And for me, visualizing it as three distinct yet intertwined (body, mind, spirit) beings with our choices and actions and motivators in play makes sense, Freudian theory or not.

Id is that carnal nasty dude, the one who jacks off all day and eats 4 pizzas in one sitting. He chainsmokes, Id, and swears like a truck driver. He needs a bath. And you don't want Id going out with your daughter.

Superego is another story. This cat is so tightly wound that he even pisses in a straight line. While holding a Bible in one hand and the other cast in a military salute. His room is clean. And you don't want him going out with your daughter, either. Unless you are a fundamentalist. But if that was the case you are probably not reading this, so let's move along.

And then there's our friend Ego. She is the sweet balance. She cleans up the pizza boxes and unclenches the fist. But she gets the most face time, and therefore is open to more criticism. When in reality, all she's doing is a mad dash between the basement (Id) and the loft (SE), barely pausing to catch her breath in between.

So when I ponder what role the ego plays in our culture, I am more aptly thinking of how our culture relentlessly pursues Id in the hopes of getting him really riled up and going hog wild. Consume. More. Now. Consequences be damned. And other parts of our culture really pander to the Superego, forcing their stick even further up his backside. You MUST live like this if you are to live a moral life. You must. This Way.

But who, if anyone, is really pursuing the ego? In my opinion, she's exhausted. Struggling to resist the temptations while simultaneously deflecting the guilt she feels for not being perfect. But the Id, well, that dude is the one we should worry about. He's bound to embarrass us - if the ego takes a rest the door is wide open and Id is always raring to go. To the next feel good thing. No matter if it steps on the backs of someone else. Power, greed, glory, gluttony. Id loves that shit. And don't get me wrong - Id's not all bad - he's a good time joe as well - some pleasure seeking is of course, merely that. Enough said.

To say that the Id is stimulated any more or less in this culture than others - I suppose I'd say yes, when it comes down to choice. To over consume rather than to simply survive. But that is another whole post in itself, as well as how organized religion feeds these concepts, both and all.

So, dear Chani, I don't think this is really answering what you asked me, but I am high on green tea and this is my late night .02.

I think, once again, it goes back to mindfulness. That our culture benefits from feeding our Id, and unchecked, Id will act like the lone male in a hot tub at the playboy mansion (not that there's anything wrong with that). And our Superego, well, left to his own devices, he'll have everyone subscribing to his own version of what is right, no ifs ands or buts. And no compassion, either.

But that's why our girl Ego is here. She's the one we need to make friends with. She's the one who helps us find the balance.

It's up to us to make sure she's not too exhausted to keep up.

*And please note - the obvious gender-izing of the concepts in question was just that. No offense to our brothers intended.

katannuta and ego

Gratitude is an emotion which involves a feeling of emotional indebtedness towards another person; often accompanied by a desire to thank them, or to reciprocate in kind. (abbreviated from the wiki-people)

From a Buddhist point of view, the Pali word which we translate in English as gratitude is katannuta. The word katannuta consists of two parts: kata which means that which has been done, especially that which has been done to one, to oneself, and annuta which means knowing or recognising.

So katannuta means knowing or recognizing what has been done, that is to say knowing and recognising what has been done to one for one's benefit. Hence the connotation of the Pali word is rather different from its English equivalent. The connotation of the English gratitude is more emotional but the connotation of katannuta is rather more intellectual.

This suggests that gratitude involves an element of knowledge - knowledge of what has been done to us or for us. If we do not know that something has benefited us, we'll not feel gratitude. (More wiki-people)

So, then, is it the recognizing that allows us to be/feel gratitude? Or does the taking for granted the things we forget to notice allow us to miss the intellectual boat and therefore, forget to be grateful?

Because truly, it would seem, if we were cognizant of our good fortune, and anyone who has the luxury of blog reading falls into that category in varying degrees, then we'd exist in a perpetual state of gratitude - perhaps not to each other, but to divinity or mother earth.

I am rolling around the notions of intellectual versus emotional gratitude, and more importantly, how mindfulness of the above can not only affect my daily existence, but allow me to embrace a fuller potential. Because if you break it down, none of us are givers. Rather, we are all part of a giant cosmos that gives and takes, and sometimes our energies intersect with others, and good things happen. To consider oneself a giver supposes a connotation that we are indeed separate.

And honestly, sometimes there is a hell of a lot of ego in that. J mentioned the other day that my blog friends must have a one sided image of me - that I carry on about homeless this, and giving that, and it's all inherently bullshit because giving is not about me. I got rather pissed for a few minutes, and then realized he was right. It's true, I might hold my ideals in front of me as a way to fulfill ego. I also might want to share the things I care about. But I got too defensive not to admit there was truth in his words. And it made me wonder if I wasn't somehow needing to make it known, rather than done for the sake of doing. (Perhaps I am more of a Buddhist than I thought). Probably not. But I digress.

I am paraphrasing a piece from Kahlil Gibran as further food for thought:

You give but little when you give of your possessions.
It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.
For what are your possessions but things you keep and guard for fear you may need them tomorrow?
And what is fear of need but need itself?
There are those who give little of the much which they have - and they give it for recognition and their hidden desire makes their gifts unwholesome. And there are those who have little and give it all.
These are the believers in life and the bounty of life, and their coffer is never empty.
There are those who give with joy, and that joy is their reward.
And there are those who give with pain, and that pain is their baptism.
And there are those who give and know not pain in giving, nor do they seek joy, nor give with mindfulness of virtue;
Though the hands of such as these God speaks, and from behind their eyes He smiles upon the earth.
For in truth it is life that gives unto life - while you, who deem yourself a giver, are but a witness. And you receivers - and you are all receivers - assume no weight of gratitude, lest you lay a yoke upon yourself and upon him who gives. Rather rise together with the giver on his gifts as on wings; For to be overmindful of your debt, is to doubt his generosity who has the free-hearted earth for mother, and God for father.

I like this - a combination disavowing guilt trips AND pushing for interconnectedness and lack of ego. There's a reason he's called The Prophet, yo.

So I'll continue to mull. I think this goes back to the simple act of being mindful. And how we get to continually decide how we want to show up in this world. And how we might not want to show up after all.