Sunday morning, I had an amazing dream. I woke up feeling free and confident. The dream went like this: I am standing around with a bunch of people I don't know. This guy comes up to me and flirts with me. I'm not interested, but I assume that he's harmless. Then he grabs at my chest. I tell him to stop, and then I tell him to stop again. I tell him a third time, pull away from him, and at the top of my lungs, to make sure everyone hears, I read him the riot act. I'll paraphrase: I've told you three times to stop touching me, and no means no, and you're an insecure jerk, etc. I say everything I need to say and I don't hold back. I say out loud all the things you'd want to say in a situation like this but can't think of in the moment. Usually, I am very careful with my words, but I was angry, not scared. When I woke up, I felt like I could sing. I'd gotten it all out of my system!
In reality, it's not that easy...
Monday, June 21, 2010
Friday, June 18, 2010
On on Piffle
Yesterday, I went out to breakfast with my friend and mother-in-law, Pat. I was talking to her about the Prince of Piffle article, and she gave me some insight. She explained that many non-religious people are really frightened by what has been going on in the world, with the current forms of religious oppression. (I can think of the Catholic church sex abuse scandal, the violent response by Muslims over cartoon depictions of Mohammed, and the fundamentalist push to make homosexuality punishable by death sentence in Africa). She also shared with me that Christopher Hitchens was a good friend of Salman Rushdie's, and must have been greatly influenced by that. When I put myself in his position. I can completely empathize with his point of view. And I realize that I did something that psychological rearch shows people do all the time: misinterpret fear as anger. Anger is a way to protect oneself from threats to self. Knowing more about Hitchens, whose friend was almost assasinated at least twice, I understand his frothing better.
Thank you, Pat.
Thank you, Pat.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
On Prince of Piffle
Christopher Hitchens wrote a scathing article about Prince Charles on Slate (www.slate.msn.com). He attacked both the future monarch's character as well as his religiosity. I definitely agree that the Prince looks foolish, at least in this context, but many people hold similar views: that the destruction of the environment is connected to a mechanistic view of nature. Prince Charles referred to the source of this way of thinking as Galileo, but I think it goes way further, back to the Greek philosophical split between mind and body.
At the mention of Galileo, Hitchens unleashes a tirade on all that science has given us, including a disturbing reference to it 'putting us in our place'. Again, I agree that science has given us a lot in terms of advances and technology, as well as religion and spirituality being optional, rather than mandatory. What he fails to understand that there is room for both ways of thinking, for both paradigms to coexist. It's a mistake I often see: something has to be either/or, not both. It's a failure of imagination. Hitchens gets a bit rabid, and devolves into namecalling and denigrating anyone of faith. I think that's sloppy and disrespectful.
Of course, this is the author of "God is Not Great", so it's no surprise that these are his personal views. The problem is that he's not owning them. I see this a lot in communication: people make pronouncements instead of speaking from our own experience. It's as if our viewpoint isn't valid unless we assert that it is Reality. The drawback to this kind of communication is that it offers no room for the listener's perspective. I make a great effort to speak from my personal experience; I find that people hear me better, and I feel more understood. This is a way of building community, rather than building conflict. At the same time, it takes courage for us to talk about our own lives. But we can also invoke courage: feeling the fear and doing it anyway. May we all find the courage to speak openly, lovingly, and honestly with each other.
At the mention of Galileo, Hitchens unleashes a tirade on all that science has given us, including a disturbing reference to it 'putting us in our place'. Again, I agree that science has given us a lot in terms of advances and technology, as well as religion and spirituality being optional, rather than mandatory. What he fails to understand that there is room for both ways of thinking, for both paradigms to coexist. It's a mistake I often see: something has to be either/or, not both. It's a failure of imagination. Hitchens gets a bit rabid, and devolves into namecalling and denigrating anyone of faith. I think that's sloppy and disrespectful.
Of course, this is the author of "God is Not Great", so it's no surprise that these are his personal views. The problem is that he's not owning them. I see this a lot in communication: people make pronouncements instead of speaking from our own experience. It's as if our viewpoint isn't valid unless we assert that it is Reality. The drawback to this kind of communication is that it offers no room for the listener's perspective. I make a great effort to speak from my personal experience; I find that people hear me better, and I feel more understood. This is a way of building community, rather than building conflict. At the same time, it takes courage for us to talk about our own lives. But we can also invoke courage: feeling the fear and doing it anyway. May we all find the courage to speak openly, lovingly, and honestly with each other.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Notes from The Women
This weekend, I was planning to watch an old favorite on TCM: the black and white female romp The Women, with a gaggle of old Hollywood glamour ladies, including Joan Crawford. The movie is known for good writing and a keen eye about the relationships between the fairer sex. I was looking for a good time, and this time around I didn't find it.
I had forgotten about all the backbiting.
It all starts with Rosalind Russell, who is a devilish gossip who just has to know what is going around and what everyone else is up to. From my distant memory, she had seemed fun, but now, watching her in the first few scenes of the movie, I was struck by her distastefulness. Here was a woman who was clearly unhappy, didn't quite know it herself, and looked for misery in everyone else.
I'm overstating it, of course. But, then again, she is a caricature. The problem is not that she's miserable in herself, it's that she spreads it around. When she finds out that the husband of one of her best friends is stepping out, Rosalind makes sure that every woman she knows finds out as well. It's pretty horrible, especially when the movie shifts to the woman in question and you see how happy she is in her "fool's paradise". It's even worse when she finds out the truth and, on top of that, deals with the humiliation of having everyone else know, too.
I'm not here to bash Rosalind Russell. I'm not interested in writing about whether women are happier knowing the truth about their marriages. I don't want to rap women on the nose for behaving in unseemly or unladylike fashions. Truthfully, I don't think there's any women in my life right now who act this way. But, it's got to be in there. We're all capable of it.
Somewhere, in our secret heart of hearts, we're jaded. There's a part of us that doesn't want to see, feel or taste happiness, even in other people, because we can't bear it. It's too painful. When we find out the ugly truth about people's lives, our worst beliefs about the world are proven true, and it's a relief. Because if the world really is as rotten as we think it is, then we can just tell ourselves not to feel it. We can put the pain away.
No one sits down with Rosalind and tells her this. No one lends her an ear about her marriage, about which she quips,"I wouldn't trust my husband on Alcatraz!", a telling phrase. She becomes part of the Bad Girls, in the "Joan Crawford, other woman" camp. A woman to avoid, to ostracize. But perhaps, we can look at someone like Rosalind with a bit of pity and a bit of compassion. Not let her do her mischief or get away with things, but with a kind, firm hand, say, "no, we don't hurt people. But you're hurting now, aren't you?" And when we see Rosalind in the mirror, give ourselves a little bit of the love she so desperately needs.
I had forgotten about all the backbiting.
It all starts with Rosalind Russell, who is a devilish gossip who just has to know what is going around and what everyone else is up to. From my distant memory, she had seemed fun, but now, watching her in the first few scenes of the movie, I was struck by her distastefulness. Here was a woman who was clearly unhappy, didn't quite know it herself, and looked for misery in everyone else.
I'm overstating it, of course. But, then again, she is a caricature. The problem is not that she's miserable in herself, it's that she spreads it around. When she finds out that the husband of one of her best friends is stepping out, Rosalind makes sure that every woman she knows finds out as well. It's pretty horrible, especially when the movie shifts to the woman in question and you see how happy she is in her "fool's paradise". It's even worse when she finds out the truth and, on top of that, deals with the humiliation of having everyone else know, too.
I'm not here to bash Rosalind Russell. I'm not interested in writing about whether women are happier knowing the truth about their marriages. I don't want to rap women on the nose for behaving in unseemly or unladylike fashions. Truthfully, I don't think there's any women in my life right now who act this way. But, it's got to be in there. We're all capable of it.
Somewhere, in our secret heart of hearts, we're jaded. There's a part of us that doesn't want to see, feel or taste happiness, even in other people, because we can't bear it. It's too painful. When we find out the ugly truth about people's lives, our worst beliefs about the world are proven true, and it's a relief. Because if the world really is as rotten as we think it is, then we can just tell ourselves not to feel it. We can put the pain away.
No one sits down with Rosalind and tells her this. No one lends her an ear about her marriage, about which she quips,"I wouldn't trust my husband on Alcatraz!", a telling phrase. She becomes part of the Bad Girls, in the "Joan Crawford, other woman" camp. A woman to avoid, to ostracize. But perhaps, we can look at someone like Rosalind with a bit of pity and a bit of compassion. Not let her do her mischief or get away with things, but with a kind, firm hand, say, "no, we don't hurt people. But you're hurting now, aren't you?" And when we see Rosalind in the mirror, give ourselves a little bit of the love she so desperately needs.
Friday, June 4, 2010
Notes from Sex and the City Two
It's a common problem. Carrie wants to go out on the town while Mr. Big wants to hang out on the couch and watch tv. Of course, by the end of the movie, this problem is solved by... jewelry.(Spoiler Alert!)
I guess for some protagonists, that would be enough. A token of love and affection to stave off impending existential crises. But the problem will crop up again, and again, and again... good for sequels, but not for relationships.
It all breaks down to abandonment and inundation.
Abandonment: Don't leave me!
Inundation: Get away, I need my space!
These two impulses are in a constant dance in meaningful relationships (and in some not-so-meaningful ones). It's something that comes up all the time.
Some people tend to feel abandoned more. They don't want to be alone, want to get as close to their partner as possible. Some people more often feel inundated. They need time off, to take a breather, to be alone.
It's normal and it's natural. Each of us needs to be, at times, held and close to another person, and at other times to be just our unique, unfettered self.
It just gets messy when one person wants one and the other wants the other. That's when we get the idea that Carrie got in SITC2: What is wrong with my relationship?
The truth is there is nothing wrong with our relationships. But we need to recognize what our individual needs are and to attend to those needs ourselves. Then we can let our partners recognize and attend to their own needs. By the time we get together, we can enjoy each other's company without having built up resentments. Both together and apart, we can both connect and be our unique, unfettered selves.
I guess for some protagonists, that would be enough. A token of love and affection to stave off impending existential crises. But the problem will crop up again, and again, and again... good for sequels, but not for relationships.
It all breaks down to abandonment and inundation.
Abandonment: Don't leave me!
Inundation: Get away, I need my space!
These two impulses are in a constant dance in meaningful relationships (and in some not-so-meaningful ones). It's something that comes up all the time.
Some people tend to feel abandoned more. They don't want to be alone, want to get as close to their partner as possible. Some people more often feel inundated. They need time off, to take a breather, to be alone.
It's normal and it's natural. Each of us needs to be, at times, held and close to another person, and at other times to be just our unique, unfettered self.
It just gets messy when one person wants one and the other wants the other. That's when we get the idea that Carrie got in SITC2: What is wrong with my relationship?
The truth is there is nothing wrong with our relationships. But we need to recognize what our individual needs are and to attend to those needs ourselves. Then we can let our partners recognize and attend to their own needs. By the time we get together, we can enjoy each other's company without having built up resentments. Both together and apart, we can both connect and be our unique, unfettered selves.
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