"There is more to life than increasing its speed."
-Mahatma Gandhi
I begin this blog with a confession: Patience is a virtue I do not have a natural predisposition toward. At the market I seek the Express line, and then find myself counting the number of items in the carts of people in front of me. I struggle to reject the belief that going less than 65 MPH in the fast lane of the freeway borders on mortal sin. I never go out to dinner between the hours of 6:00 and 8:00 without a reservation.
I dislike waiting in any way, shape, or form. Problem is, I know how vital patience is to a mature life. And waiting is intimately connected to patience.
Sooner or later, we will run into a situation where there is no short cut, no way to manipulate, no way to force change. And the lesson in patience begins.
Most of us humans operate under the adolescent illusion that we have (and should have) much more control over people and circumstances than we actually do. Some of this illusion can be helpful; it wards off anxiety about the big, dangerous world we must venture forth into, and how vulnerable we actually are in it. But like any illusion, control needs to get checked from time to time so that we don’t totally separate from objective reality.
And that’s why the man in the Express line with twelve items and not ten, and the little old lady going 60 in the fast lane when she could be going 70, and the crowded restaurant where you are invited to take a seat until your name is called can all be tremendously helpful. They make us wait. And in that waiting, we can learn.
Practicing patience develops a pace of life that ensures a care-fullness with self and others, and thus supports balance and perspective.
I am not the only person who has feelings, and needs, and a schedule. I am not the only person who wants to be seen, and heard, and respected. I am surrounded by other people who do not exist to serve me. And as I practice patience, I realize that I don’t have the ability, or the right, to control them anyway.
On the days I can remember to take a deep breath, smile, accept what I receive instead of what I want, and acknowledge that there is more to life than increasing its speed, I am one step closer to growing up.
Question for reflection: When are you most impatient, and what do these times tell you about your “unfinished business”?
Monday, September 19, 2011
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Should I blush?
“Man is the only animal that blushes. Or needs to.”
-Mark Twain
My perspective on behavior, especially questionable behavior, changed radically when I came to the same conclusion wiser people had reached long before; that in everything there is a longing, a striving for the good…it might be well buried, but it is there somewhere.
Remembering this truth was helpful when my wife and I walked past a group of teens the other night congregating outside a movie theater. To sum up the scene, it was all about being seen…and heard. Body parts and underwear boldly on display, loud (and I mean loud) conversations peppered with “sentence enhancers” one wouldn’t hear in church, and a general unconsciousness about the larger world around them. And although it was dark, I’m guessing there wasn’t much blushing going on.
How did Whitman put it? “I sound my barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world.” Indeed! Everyone wants to be seen. Everyone wants to be heard. This is healthy, and human, and good. But in our efforts to be seen and heard…to be recognized as existing and mattering…do we lose our dignity? Do we become less than who we are meant to be?
The great irony is that in a culture where more and more is revealed (in dress and in speech), alienation and isolation grow. Contact passes for intimacy, freedom is confused with license, and “can” hijacks “should.” What is rightfully seen as off-limits, private, and sacred nowadays? How much is too much? When does decent become indecent? Insights and answers will come as we practice the virtue of modesty.
Modesty is poorly understood and seriously under-valued because it is so often associated exclusively with rules about proper attire at schools, country clubs, and convents. But this is far too superficial an understanding. How one dresses does matter, but what’s going on below the surface matters more.
Modesty guides the sharing of one’s self with others, and safeguards dignity.
For modesty to truly make sense, though, we need to remember that we’re always communicating; sometimes with words sometimes without. How different would we look or sound if we stayed conscious of this?
In our sharing of ourselves, modesty helps us figure out healthy limits and boundaries; what is appropriate, when, and with whom? It also helps us discern what we value about ourselves, and what we truly want affirmed.
“Man is the only animal that blushes. Or needs to.” Modesty tells us this isn’t a bad thing. All people need an occasional reminder of the call to be humans and not merely creatures…and that sometimes less is more.
Question for reflection: What does modesty look like to you?
-Mark Twain
My perspective on behavior, especially questionable behavior, changed radically when I came to the same conclusion wiser people had reached long before; that in everything there is a longing, a striving for the good…it might be well buried, but it is there somewhere.
Remembering this truth was helpful when my wife and I walked past a group of teens the other night congregating outside a movie theater. To sum up the scene, it was all about being seen…and heard. Body parts and underwear boldly on display, loud (and I mean loud) conversations peppered with “sentence enhancers” one wouldn’t hear in church, and a general unconsciousness about the larger world around them. And although it was dark, I’m guessing there wasn’t much blushing going on.
How did Whitman put it? “I sound my barbaric YAWP over the roofs of the world.” Indeed! Everyone wants to be seen. Everyone wants to be heard. This is healthy, and human, and good. But in our efforts to be seen and heard…to be recognized as existing and mattering…do we lose our dignity? Do we become less than who we are meant to be?
The great irony is that in a culture where more and more is revealed (in dress and in speech), alienation and isolation grow. Contact passes for intimacy, freedom is confused with license, and “can” hijacks “should.” What is rightfully seen as off-limits, private, and sacred nowadays? How much is too much? When does decent become indecent? Insights and answers will come as we practice the virtue of modesty.
Modesty is poorly understood and seriously under-valued because it is so often associated exclusively with rules about proper attire at schools, country clubs, and convents. But this is far too superficial an understanding. How one dresses does matter, but what’s going on below the surface matters more.
Modesty guides the sharing of one’s self with others, and safeguards dignity.
For modesty to truly make sense, though, we need to remember that we’re always communicating; sometimes with words sometimes without. How different would we look or sound if we stayed conscious of this?
In our sharing of ourselves, modesty helps us figure out healthy limits and boundaries; what is appropriate, when, and with whom? It also helps us discern what we value about ourselves, and what we truly want affirmed.
“Man is the only animal that blushes. Or needs to.” Modesty tells us this isn’t a bad thing. All people need an occasional reminder of the call to be humans and not merely creatures…and that sometimes less is more.
Question for reflection: What does modesty look like to you?
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
First things first
Genius always gives its best at first; prudence, at last.
-Seneca
Welles Crowther worked for Sandler O’Neill Partners on the 104th floor of the South Tower of the World Trade Center. And that’s exactly where he was on the morning of September 11, 2001 when the plane hit. Undaunted, Crowther, with a red bandanna covering his mouth and nose to protect him from the smoke, sprang into action. Witnesses report that he worked with a combination of intensity and calm to rescue people, re-entering the building three times. He is directly responsible for saving the lives of at least 18 people.
The fact that he made it out of the inferno three times when so many didn’t make it out at all is remarkable enough. But that he went back three times to help others is the epitome of heroism. Six months after the South Tower collapsed, the body of this hero was finally recovered in what had been the lobby, along with members of the New York Fire Department with whom he had joined forces. They were trying to go back up once more with a “jaws of life” tool to free victims trapped under rubble.
Courage? Crowther was the very embodiment of it. But I want to focus on another virtue he displayed that day: prudence.
Prudence is about putting “first things first”; it is the virtue that guides sound judgment. Some might quietly and respectfully question the “sound judgment” of a man who would go back into a collapsing sky scraper three times. Back up the stairs as people rushed out. Back into the smoke, and fire, and horror, and death.
Three times.
But prudence isn’t about playing it safe. We’re talking about virtue here, not the basic rules of accounting. Welles Crowther went back again, and again, and again because it was who he had become.
Crises don’t make or break people, they reveal people. And long before September 11, 2001 became synonymous with both evil and heroism, Crowther was figuring out what it meant to make good decisions, judgments that were based on more than just emotion, and ease, and self. In the home and in the classroom, on the athletic field and with friends, as a boy scout and eventually an investment banker and a volunteer firefighter…in a thousand little ways, he learned to put first things first. He learned to focus and stay focused on what was most important, most essential at any given moment.
“Genius always gives its best at first; prudence, at last.”
In the last hour of his life, Welles Crowther made the sound judgment that saving lives was what he was supposed to do…first things first. Not because he had to, but because he could.
And the demons shuddered, and the angels bowed.
Question for reflection: Do you put “first things first”?
-Seneca
Welles Crowther worked for Sandler O’Neill Partners on the 104th floor of the South Tower of the World Trade Center. And that’s exactly where he was on the morning of September 11, 2001 when the plane hit. Undaunted, Crowther, with a red bandanna covering his mouth and nose to protect him from the smoke, sprang into action. Witnesses report that he worked with a combination of intensity and calm to rescue people, re-entering the building three times. He is directly responsible for saving the lives of at least 18 people.
The fact that he made it out of the inferno three times when so many didn’t make it out at all is remarkable enough. But that he went back three times to help others is the epitome of heroism. Six months after the South Tower collapsed, the body of this hero was finally recovered in what had been the lobby, along with members of the New York Fire Department with whom he had joined forces. They were trying to go back up once more with a “jaws of life” tool to free victims trapped under rubble.
Courage? Crowther was the very embodiment of it. But I want to focus on another virtue he displayed that day: prudence.
Prudence is about putting “first things first”; it is the virtue that guides sound judgment. Some might quietly and respectfully question the “sound judgment” of a man who would go back into a collapsing sky scraper three times. Back up the stairs as people rushed out. Back into the smoke, and fire, and horror, and death.
Three times.
But prudence isn’t about playing it safe. We’re talking about virtue here, not the basic rules of accounting. Welles Crowther went back again, and again, and again because it was who he had become.
Crises don’t make or break people, they reveal people. And long before September 11, 2001 became synonymous with both evil and heroism, Crowther was figuring out what it meant to make good decisions, judgments that were based on more than just emotion, and ease, and self. In the home and in the classroom, on the athletic field and with friends, as a boy scout and eventually an investment banker and a volunteer firefighter…in a thousand little ways, he learned to put first things first. He learned to focus and stay focused on what was most important, most essential at any given moment.
“Genius always gives its best at first; prudence, at last.”
In the last hour of his life, Welles Crowther made the sound judgment that saving lives was what he was supposed to do…first things first. Not because he had to, but because he could.
And the demons shuddered, and the angels bowed.
Question for reflection: Do you put “first things first”?
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
Getting it right
"The moral arc of the universe bends at the elbow of justice."
-Martin Luther King, Jr.
Do you know the name James Blake? Neither did I before writing this blog. But we all should, and be grateful for his contribution to society. Because without James Blake, Alabama bus driver and strict adherent to the racial segregation codes of the day, the world would never have met Rosa Parks. Mr. Blake, you see, was the man who ordered Mrs. Parks to give up her seat on his bus so that a white man might sit, and thus gave justice a chance to shine.
December 1, 1955 was a cold day in Montgomery, and Parks was tired from a long day of ironing and stitching shirts for a department store. And in her exhaustion and dignity she uttered that very dangerous word, “No.” Blake threatened to have her arrested, but it made no difference to her. She’d paid for her ticket, she was seated in the section of the bus where blacks were told to sit, and she’d had enough.
Later, when asked why she didn’t just give up her seat, she explained, “I would have to know for once and for all what rights I had as a human being and a citizen." What does it mean to be human and to be a citizen? This Civil Rights movement hero, this American hero, asked the fundamental question that frames the virtue of justice.
Justice is about giving to others what is their due. It is the virtue that uniquely establishes the relationship between self and others. Justice points to the “inalienable rights” all human beings carry with them; rights that are hopefully supported by the laws of the land, but are ultimately deeper and more authoritative than anything that could be legislated. Because they are grounded in Natural Law.
A sense of justice is part of the very essence of human beings, and as a virtue it guides the legitimate search for fairness, equality, and best use of power. Justice is about what’s right, not just what’s accepted. Justice safeguards human dignity. In fact to violate it is to do soul-damage to one’s self. Socrates wrote that those who are unjust should be “pitied.”
It is unnatural to be unjust, thus unjust acts make both practitioners and societies sick.
Although he acted within the law, and was supported by the law, James Blake violated the virtue of justice…what was essentially due Parks as a human being; deeper than any human law, deeper than any cultural context or societal norm, deeper than a political position.
I wonder if James Blake was changed by his encounter with justice on that December day in 1955, and his invitation to become more fully human. He worked for 19 more years as a bus driver, and lived until 2002. That’s a lot of time to reflect. When asked about the incident his standard reply remained, “I wasn't trying to do anything to that Parks woman except do my job…I had my orders.”
Justice demands more than that.
Question for reflection: Where do you see inequalities, double standards, and power plays in your home, your friendships, and your workplace?
-Martin Luther King, Jr.
Do you know the name James Blake? Neither did I before writing this blog. But we all should, and be grateful for his contribution to society. Because without James Blake, Alabama bus driver and strict adherent to the racial segregation codes of the day, the world would never have met Rosa Parks. Mr. Blake, you see, was the man who ordered Mrs. Parks to give up her seat on his bus so that a white man might sit, and thus gave justice a chance to shine.
December 1, 1955 was a cold day in Montgomery, and Parks was tired from a long day of ironing and stitching shirts for a department store. And in her exhaustion and dignity she uttered that very dangerous word, “No.” Blake threatened to have her arrested, but it made no difference to her. She’d paid for her ticket, she was seated in the section of the bus where blacks were told to sit, and she’d had enough.
Later, when asked why she didn’t just give up her seat, she explained, “I would have to know for once and for all what rights I had as a human being and a citizen." What does it mean to be human and to be a citizen? This Civil Rights movement hero, this American hero, asked the fundamental question that frames the virtue of justice.
Justice is about giving to others what is their due. It is the virtue that uniquely establishes the relationship between self and others. Justice points to the “inalienable rights” all human beings carry with them; rights that are hopefully supported by the laws of the land, but are ultimately deeper and more authoritative than anything that could be legislated. Because they are grounded in Natural Law.
A sense of justice is part of the very essence of human beings, and as a virtue it guides the legitimate search for fairness, equality, and best use of power. Justice is about what’s right, not just what’s accepted. Justice safeguards human dignity. In fact to violate it is to do soul-damage to one’s self. Socrates wrote that those who are unjust should be “pitied.”
It is unnatural to be unjust, thus unjust acts make both practitioners and societies sick.
Although he acted within the law, and was supported by the law, James Blake violated the virtue of justice…what was essentially due Parks as a human being; deeper than any human law, deeper than any cultural context or societal norm, deeper than a political position.
I wonder if James Blake was changed by his encounter with justice on that December day in 1955, and his invitation to become more fully human. He worked for 19 more years as a bus driver, and lived until 2002. That’s a lot of time to reflect. When asked about the incident his standard reply remained, “I wasn't trying to do anything to that Parks woman except do my job…I had my orders.”
Justice demands more than that.
Question for reflection: Where do you see inequalities, double standards, and power plays in your home, your friendships, and your workplace?
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Becoming a great soul
“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls. The most massive characters are seared with scars.” -Kahlil Gibran
This past month I’ve watched with great sadness the burning and looting of London. The combustible mix of poverty, unemployment, and the perception that the government couldn’t care less has once again erupted into rioting. It is a horrible thing to watch people give in to their pain and anger and behave like crazed animals. Actually, now I’m not being fair to animals.
Almost as disturbing as the flames and violence, though, was the analysis of the commentator trying to make sense of the chaos. “Anyone would respond this way if put in similar straits.”
Anyone? How pathetic. How wrong.
But what do you do when you’ve been injured, when you suffer? How do you respond?
Anger will kick in almost immediately, often mixed with a shot of fear. And then an internal sense of justice cries out for a response. “That’s not fair.” “I didn’t deserve that.” “This can’t happen again.” And then what? This is where things typically get ugly. Payback.
But what if injury and suffering could lead to learning, healing, and wisdom?
Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to the finest virtue you’ve never heard of: magnanimity.
Magnanimity, literally translated as “greatness of soul”, is the virtue that transforms hurt into gift. Gift? How is this possible? Because like nothing else, hurt reveals the poverty and potential of humanity. And in this hurt and subsequent anger, magnanimity helps one to choose the exceptional instead of the typical; to respond in a way that witnesses to both truth and love.
Of course one does not become magnanimous, a great soul like Aristotle, Lincoln, Gandhi, or Mother Teresa, all of a sudden and by accident. It takes a lot of practice with anger. Anger is the proverbial fork in the road; where one veers toward magnanimity or pettiness. What one does with anger makes all the difference.
Magnanimity is rare, but opportunities to practice it are not. They will find you in the everyday world: the driver who cuts you off on the freeway; the annoying neighbor who plays his music too loudly; the co-worker who backstabs you; the economic downturn that guts your retirement account; the illness that steals the health of a loved one. All are injuries, big and small; all are opportunities to become a great soul.
The magnanimous see the potential for good in suffering and injury; recognizing both what we are and what we can become. They transform hurt into health, and in the process go from good to great.
Question for reflection: How could you use hurt feelings to grow in magnanimity?
This past month I’ve watched with great sadness the burning and looting of London. The combustible mix of poverty, unemployment, and the perception that the government couldn’t care less has once again erupted into rioting. It is a horrible thing to watch people give in to their pain and anger and behave like crazed animals. Actually, now I’m not being fair to animals.
Almost as disturbing as the flames and violence, though, was the analysis of the commentator trying to make sense of the chaos. “Anyone would respond this way if put in similar straits.”
Anyone? How pathetic. How wrong.
But what do you do when you’ve been injured, when you suffer? How do you respond?
Anger will kick in almost immediately, often mixed with a shot of fear. And then an internal sense of justice cries out for a response. “That’s not fair.” “I didn’t deserve that.” “This can’t happen again.” And then what? This is where things typically get ugly. Payback.
But what if injury and suffering could lead to learning, healing, and wisdom?
Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to introduce you to the finest virtue you’ve never heard of: magnanimity.
Magnanimity, literally translated as “greatness of soul”, is the virtue that transforms hurt into gift. Gift? How is this possible? Because like nothing else, hurt reveals the poverty and potential of humanity. And in this hurt and subsequent anger, magnanimity helps one to choose the exceptional instead of the typical; to respond in a way that witnesses to both truth and love.
Of course one does not become magnanimous, a great soul like Aristotle, Lincoln, Gandhi, or Mother Teresa, all of a sudden and by accident. It takes a lot of practice with anger. Anger is the proverbial fork in the road; where one veers toward magnanimity or pettiness. What one does with anger makes all the difference.
Magnanimity is rare, but opportunities to practice it are not. They will find you in the everyday world: the driver who cuts you off on the freeway; the annoying neighbor who plays his music too loudly; the co-worker who backstabs you; the economic downturn that guts your retirement account; the illness that steals the health of a loved one. All are injuries, big and small; all are opportunities to become a great soul.
The magnanimous see the potential for good in suffering and injury; recognizing both what we are and what we can become. They transform hurt into health, and in the process go from good to great.
Question for reflection: How could you use hurt feelings to grow in magnanimity?
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Even Flies?
"All the efforts of the human mind cannot exhaust the essence of a single fly."
-St. Thomas Aquinas
Labels can be very helpful when shopping for a car, or a computer, or a pair of shoes. They help us organize information and make efficient and generally informed decisions. I know if I buy a Volvo, I’ll get a safe car; a Mac, and I’ll have a trustworthy computer; Cole-Haan, a quality pair of loafers.
But how meaningful are labels when applied to human beings: white, black, believers, non-believers, liberals, conservatives, rich, poor? Is this enough information to really know the individual person you’re trying to cubbyhole? White people are racists. Christians are anti-intellectual. Liberals are atheists. Poor people are lazy. To the reasonable person, these too-broad generalizations, stereotypes, are quickly seen as both ridiculous and unkind.
Yet, we’ve all felt pre-judged, categorized, and rejected based on superficial information that reduces us to demographic categories. And few things hurt more. This doesn’t stop us, however, from being tempted to do the same thing to others. There really is some truth to the adage that we abuse the way we’ve been abused.
Labeling people serves a kind of protective function, which is why it’s done so regularly. We want to know who’s safe and who’s not, who’s reliable and who’s not, who’s good, and who’s not. And we want to know quickly, and we really don’t want there to be any gray area, any room for process and discovery, any mystery. Too much risk and up-front investment.
This is fundamentally fear-based and un-natural. Understandable, but unnatural…because it is not grounded in Love.
“All the efforts of the human mind cannot exhaust the essence of a single fly.” This from St. Thomas Aquinas, arguably the greatest genius of the last millennium. If anyone understood the powers and limits of the human mind, it was the Angelic Doctor. So, if we can’t figure out the essence of a fly, what do you think the chances are that we’ll be able to fully plumb the mystery of a human being made in the Image of God?
Should we, then, stop trying to think, stop trying to reason, stop trying to figure things out? Of course not. Heaven knows this world could use a little more rationality, and a little less hysteria.
But it does mean that as we live our lives, and try (more days than not) to get along with those around us, we'd do well to respect the dimension of mystery in others, and to practice reason with a good measure of humility and awe!
Question for reflection: How often do you avoid loving by labeling?
-St. Thomas Aquinas
Labels can be very helpful when shopping for a car, or a computer, or a pair of shoes. They help us organize information and make efficient and generally informed decisions. I know if I buy a Volvo, I’ll get a safe car; a Mac, and I’ll have a trustworthy computer; Cole-Haan, a quality pair of loafers.
But how meaningful are labels when applied to human beings: white, black, believers, non-believers, liberals, conservatives, rich, poor? Is this enough information to really know the individual person you’re trying to cubbyhole? White people are racists. Christians are anti-intellectual. Liberals are atheists. Poor people are lazy. To the reasonable person, these too-broad generalizations, stereotypes, are quickly seen as both ridiculous and unkind.
Yet, we’ve all felt pre-judged, categorized, and rejected based on superficial information that reduces us to demographic categories. And few things hurt more. This doesn’t stop us, however, from being tempted to do the same thing to others. There really is some truth to the adage that we abuse the way we’ve been abused.
Labeling people serves a kind of protective function, which is why it’s done so regularly. We want to know who’s safe and who’s not, who’s reliable and who’s not, who’s good, and who’s not. And we want to know quickly, and we really don’t want there to be any gray area, any room for process and discovery, any mystery. Too much risk and up-front investment.
This is fundamentally fear-based and un-natural. Understandable, but unnatural…because it is not grounded in Love.
“All the efforts of the human mind cannot exhaust the essence of a single fly.” This from St. Thomas Aquinas, arguably the greatest genius of the last millennium. If anyone understood the powers and limits of the human mind, it was the Angelic Doctor. So, if we can’t figure out the essence of a fly, what do you think the chances are that we’ll be able to fully plumb the mystery of a human being made in the Image of God?
Should we, then, stop trying to think, stop trying to reason, stop trying to figure things out? Of course not. Heaven knows this world could use a little more rationality, and a little less hysteria.
But it does mean that as we live our lives, and try (more days than not) to get along with those around us, we'd do well to respect the dimension of mystery in others, and to practice reason with a good measure of humility and awe!
Question for reflection: How often do you avoid loving by labeling?
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Making beautiful music
“It is good to have an end to journey toward; but it is the journey that matters in the end.”
-Ursula K. LeGuin
If you’ve ever gone to hear an orchestra play, you know that the performance doesn’t begin until the musicians first tune their instruments. The oboe sounds the note “A”, and players make sure their instruments match the pitch. It’s the “warm-up” if you will. Many balmy summer evenings I’ve sat in the amphitheater at the Hollywood Bowl as the sun sank below the hills, and listened to the orchestra slowly but surely get in tune. This delights me in ways I can’t fully explain.
Thus, I could thoroughly relate when a friend told me about his son’s response to the same experience. The young man was attending the Bowl for the first time, and his parents got him there in time to soak in the atmosphere of the place, and watch the orchestra tuning up; kind of preparation for the “real show.” After the concert, on the way home, they excitedly asked the boy which part of the performance he liked best. “Oh,” he replied, “The beginning, just before the guy with the stick came out.”
The process of orchestral tuning is fascinating! The musicians come on stage as individuals, playing various melodies and rhythms. There are moments of discordant sound, and of back and forth between the sections when it’s hard to imagine anything like beautiful music is possible. It’s more a cacophony of noise than a symphony of sound!
Then the “guy with the stick” (aka the conductor!) enters, and with a wave of the arm the many blend into one cohesive unit. The different sections, the string and woodwind, brass and percussion complement each other, and communicate the full message that is too deep for words.
And that lasts 24 hours.
The very next evening the orchestra will begin the process all over again. These world-class musicians will each come back on stage as individual parts, play, stop and listen, play some more, and make adjustments until they finally find unity. Orchestral tuning is a good metaphor for life.
There will be times when your world is in perfect pitch; everything has come together, you feel wonderful, you think lofty thoughts, and beautiful music is made. Then there will be periods when you feel splintered, your emotions are at war, and you think that snapping your conductor’s baton in two and storming off the stage might be the best plan of all.
But most of the time you’ll be somewhere in-between; happiness and sadness, joy and sorrow, peace and anger. There will be this strange mix of thoughts and feelings that you get to somehow make sense of. This is pretty normal. Growth and healing is a 24-hour miracle…one day at a time. Don’t be surprised by the process; and maybe even get to the point where you accept it.
Because in the end, life is much more about the tuning and the adjusting then it is about the concert.
Question for reflection: What are your expectations about life?
-Ursula K. LeGuin
If you’ve ever gone to hear an orchestra play, you know that the performance doesn’t begin until the musicians first tune their instruments. The oboe sounds the note “A”, and players make sure their instruments match the pitch. It’s the “warm-up” if you will. Many balmy summer evenings I’ve sat in the amphitheater at the Hollywood Bowl as the sun sank below the hills, and listened to the orchestra slowly but surely get in tune. This delights me in ways I can’t fully explain.
Thus, I could thoroughly relate when a friend told me about his son’s response to the same experience. The young man was attending the Bowl for the first time, and his parents got him there in time to soak in the atmosphere of the place, and watch the orchestra tuning up; kind of preparation for the “real show.” After the concert, on the way home, they excitedly asked the boy which part of the performance he liked best. “Oh,” he replied, “The beginning, just before the guy with the stick came out.”
The process of orchestral tuning is fascinating! The musicians come on stage as individuals, playing various melodies and rhythms. There are moments of discordant sound, and of back and forth between the sections when it’s hard to imagine anything like beautiful music is possible. It’s more a cacophony of noise than a symphony of sound!
Then the “guy with the stick” (aka the conductor!) enters, and with a wave of the arm the many blend into one cohesive unit. The different sections, the string and woodwind, brass and percussion complement each other, and communicate the full message that is too deep for words.
And that lasts 24 hours.
The very next evening the orchestra will begin the process all over again. These world-class musicians will each come back on stage as individual parts, play, stop and listen, play some more, and make adjustments until they finally find unity. Orchestral tuning is a good metaphor for life.
There will be times when your world is in perfect pitch; everything has come together, you feel wonderful, you think lofty thoughts, and beautiful music is made. Then there will be periods when you feel splintered, your emotions are at war, and you think that snapping your conductor’s baton in two and storming off the stage might be the best plan of all.
But most of the time you’ll be somewhere in-between; happiness and sadness, joy and sorrow, peace and anger. There will be this strange mix of thoughts and feelings that you get to somehow make sense of. This is pretty normal. Growth and healing is a 24-hour miracle…one day at a time. Don’t be surprised by the process; and maybe even get to the point where you accept it.
Because in the end, life is much more about the tuning and the adjusting then it is about the concert.
Question for reflection: What are your expectations about life?
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