Rhett Butler?
or George Bailey?
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
In Defense of Marriage
No, don't worry. I'm not about to go on a political rant.
My boss has me check his email every once in a while to help him keep on top of his very busy and important press schedule. Some time ago while I was doing this, I read an email from his son talking about how he thought the idea of marriage was outdated.
His first sentence was, "Why do people even get married anymore?" He continued on a bitter diatribe about the foolishness of marriage and how people shouldn't make decisions while they're on "emotional crack" (aka in love), and how he had changed so much over the past ten years that he couldn't imagine being stuck in the same relationship with someone for even that long. My favorite part of his email was when he said that if people got married because they wanted to have children that was a ridiculous reason because "I promise you, you can have kids without being married." I was so disturbed by this whole episode that I drafted a response on the yellow legal pad next to my computer:
Marriage isn't just an outlet for the pathetic or the weak--those who lack the courage to face life by themselves. In fact, the inability to give or receive love would be a greater weakness than the ability to be independent. Western society glorifies independence as the be-all-end-all of personal strength, when in reality it fuels its own set of vices--selfishness, cold-blooded disregard for others, and social irresponsibility. In a word, independence often means loneliness. Now, you may equate the capacity to be lonely with a weakness in human character, but I don't. I think that our ability to feel lonely is also an indicator of our ability to still give and receive love.
Love isn't being on crack. One of my best friends once described it as waking up slowly after a long, peaceful night's rest. Love is about choice--choosing to relinquish a piece of your independence in order to build another's happiness. And while you may not be the same person in ten years, that's just the point. A relationship without the perspective of continual growth is stagnant--the difference between a mountain stream and a lowland quagmire. Marriage helps you create a shared experience that provides continual validation. Of course marriage is difficult. But that's also what makes it rewarding.
Also, while it's physically possible to have children outside of marriage, that's not the best way to build a society. The motivation for why you have children matters. If you have children simply because you want them, but you're not willing to give them the best life by providing a stable home environment, then the family disintegrates amidst egocentricity. Of course you can have children outside of marriage. But then again, having children isn't all about you. And while you bring up the escalating divorce rate, perhaps the divorce rate has more to do with the underlying selfishness of western society than it does with the failure of the institution. I've known a number of happy, successful marriages, but they're built on the principles of self-sacrifice and unselfishness, both of which seem to be worthless virtues by your standards.
And now, I must get back to work. I'm studying at the Library of Congress today and my books have just arrived. For the next eight hours, I will be combing through six fat books to find useful information on Theodore Roosevelt. Excellent.
My boss has me check his email every once in a while to help him keep on top of his very busy and important press schedule. Some time ago while I was doing this, I read an email from his son talking about how he thought the idea of marriage was outdated.
His first sentence was, "Why do people even get married anymore?" He continued on a bitter diatribe about the foolishness of marriage and how people shouldn't make decisions while they're on "emotional crack" (aka in love), and how he had changed so much over the past ten years that he couldn't imagine being stuck in the same relationship with someone for even that long. My favorite part of his email was when he said that if people got married because they wanted to have children that was a ridiculous reason because "I promise you, you can have kids without being married." I was so disturbed by this whole episode that I drafted a response on the yellow legal pad next to my computer:
Marriage isn't just an outlet for the pathetic or the weak--those who lack the courage to face life by themselves. In fact, the inability to give or receive love would be a greater weakness than the ability to be independent. Western society glorifies independence as the be-all-end-all of personal strength, when in reality it fuels its own set of vices--selfishness, cold-blooded disregard for others, and social irresponsibility. In a word, independence often means loneliness. Now, you may equate the capacity to be lonely with a weakness in human character, but I don't. I think that our ability to feel lonely is also an indicator of our ability to still give and receive love.
Love isn't being on crack. One of my best friends once described it as waking up slowly after a long, peaceful night's rest. Love is about choice--choosing to relinquish a piece of your independence in order to build another's happiness. And while you may not be the same person in ten years, that's just the point. A relationship without the perspective of continual growth is stagnant--the difference between a mountain stream and a lowland quagmire. Marriage helps you create a shared experience that provides continual validation. Of course marriage is difficult. But that's also what makes it rewarding.
Also, while it's physically possible to have children outside of marriage, that's not the best way to build a society. The motivation for why you have children matters. If you have children simply because you want them, but you're not willing to give them the best life by providing a stable home environment, then the family disintegrates amidst egocentricity. Of course you can have children outside of marriage. But then again, having children isn't all about you. And while you bring up the escalating divorce rate, perhaps the divorce rate has more to do with the underlying selfishness of western society than it does with the failure of the institution. I've known a number of happy, successful marriages, but they're built on the principles of self-sacrifice and unselfishness, both of which seem to be worthless virtues by your standards.
And now, I must get back to work. I'm studying at the Library of Congress today and my books have just arrived. For the next eight hours, I will be combing through six fat books to find useful information on Theodore Roosevelt. Excellent.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Happy Ash Wednesday
I was making a mad dash to Trader Joe's this morning to try and buy some chicken for dinner group tonight, when I noticed a lady with a dark smudge of black on her forehead. I was rude enough to stare until she caught my eye.
Then, because I rock at being observant, I noticed the old-fashioned Catholic church on the corner-- the St. Something-or-other Chapel.
Then, I remembered the 45-year-old man who sat next to me during lunch a few days ago and hit on me, inviting me to a Mardi Gras party, talking about the exorbitant amounts of complimentary alcohol, and encouraging me to "let my hair down." Lovely.
I'm proud to say I connected the dots. Go me.
So I'm not very up on Catholic holidays, in case you hadn't noticed, but I do know that Ash Wednesday kicks off Lent, the period of fasting. Active Catholics choose to forego something of moderate or deep value to them in the next forty days in the effort to draw closer to God. In honor of this inspiring tradition and because my natural character inclines itself to self-sacrifice, I announce my intention to forego boiled eggs and good grades.
Boiled eggs can speak for themselves. Gross.
Good grades require some explanation. It just so happens that I'm enrolled full time in classes while also working full time for my internship. Realizing that my acceptance to this program included an interview in which they interrogated me as to my seriousness as a student, and also realizing that I could be reneging on my promise to work hard at my classes, I have decided that sleep is more important. My teacher, a political science professor, has also taken it upon himself to use 13th century editing to grade our papers. Now who really knows anything about the writing of the 13th century? All I know is that they used v for u and a large s for f and probably z for e. They also wrote in an era when bizarre still meant handsome, late still meant recent, and gay still meant happy. I will not be defeated by a professor and his prehistoric language. Instead, I choose sanity. And maybe a couple trips to the Smithsonian.
Then, because I rock at being observant, I noticed the old-fashioned Catholic church on the corner-- the St. Something-or-other Chapel.
Then, I remembered the 45-year-old man who sat next to me during lunch a few days ago and hit on me, inviting me to a Mardi Gras party, talking about the exorbitant amounts of complimentary alcohol, and encouraging me to "let my hair down." Lovely.
I'm proud to say I connected the dots. Go me.
So I'm not very up on Catholic holidays, in case you hadn't noticed, but I do know that Ash Wednesday kicks off Lent, the period of fasting. Active Catholics choose to forego something of moderate or deep value to them in the next forty days in the effort to draw closer to God. In honor of this inspiring tradition and because my natural character inclines itself to self-sacrifice, I announce my intention to forego boiled eggs and good grades.
Boiled eggs can speak for themselves. Gross.
Good grades require some explanation. It just so happens that I'm enrolled full time in classes while also working full time for my internship. Realizing that my acceptance to this program included an interview in which they interrogated me as to my seriousness as a student, and also realizing that I could be reneging on my promise to work hard at my classes, I have decided that sleep is more important. My teacher, a political science professor, has also taken it upon himself to use 13th century editing to grade our papers. Now who really knows anything about the writing of the 13th century? All I know is that they used v for u and a large s for f and probably z for e. They also wrote in an era when bizarre still meant handsome, late still meant recent, and gay still meant happy. I will not be defeated by a professor and his prehistoric language. Instead, I choose sanity. And maybe a couple trips to the Smithsonian.
Friday, February 11, 2011
If only.
If I were President of the United States of America I would...
1. Only run for one term.
This makes my lack of popularity with the public irrelevant. My policies may not be popular, but they'll be right. How's that for egotistical?
2. Eliminate as many superfluous government agencies as possible.
That's right. Regardless of how high unemployment rises. I want those people working for the private sector, not stringing up more red tape.
3. Demolish teachers unions.
It's about time the educators in the United States were held up to the basic standards of merit. You can't teach, you get fired.
4. Make voting mandatory and Gerrymandering illegal.
There wouldn't be a big penalty for not voting, just a fine of $50 or so. But making everyone vote will force the candidates to cater to the center which has been alienated because of the political partisanship. People would need to become educated about political issues.
5. Give a $15,000 grant to anyone majoring in the hard sciences.
Enough of this arts stuff. We need some mathematicians.
6. End all wars waged on foreign soil.
Enough said.
7. Make employment a mandatory part of receiving welfare assistance.
I don't care if they work at the local Burger King. They just have to be employed. Oh, and I would limit unemployment benefits to six months. People would have a chance to apply for an extension, but they would have to provide extensive proof that they had been applying for work.
8. Taser seven-year-olds.
Just kidding. That's just a shout out for Brian Regan.
1. Only run for one term.
This makes my lack of popularity with the public irrelevant. My policies may not be popular, but they'll be right. How's that for egotistical?
2. Eliminate as many superfluous government agencies as possible.
That's right. Regardless of how high unemployment rises. I want those people working for the private sector, not stringing up more red tape.
3. Demolish teachers unions.
It's about time the educators in the United States were held up to the basic standards of merit. You can't teach, you get fired.
4. Make voting mandatory and Gerrymandering illegal.
There wouldn't be a big penalty for not voting, just a fine of $50 or so. But making everyone vote will force the candidates to cater to the center which has been alienated because of the political partisanship. People would need to become educated about political issues.
5. Give a $15,000 grant to anyone majoring in the hard sciences.
Enough of this arts stuff. We need some mathematicians.
6. End all wars waged on foreign soil.
Enough said.
7. Make employment a mandatory part of receiving welfare assistance.
I don't care if they work at the local Burger King. They just have to be employed. Oh, and I would limit unemployment benefits to six months. People would have a chance to apply for an extension, but they would have to provide extensive proof that they had been applying for work.
8. Taser seven-year-olds.
Just kidding. That's just a shout out for Brian Regan.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The Comedy of Washington
I work at the Woodrow Wilson International Center, a living memorial created for the memory of President Woodrow Wilson and his desire to create a bridge between the world of intellectualism and policy making. There are larger-than-life pictures of President Wilson on the windows, marble inscriptions of his words on the walls, bronze castings of his profile, and, to beat them all, a life-size, suit-wearing paper mache effigy lurking around the corner of the third floor elevators. He startles me, staring at me with glass eyes, every morning on my way to my computer cubbyhole. Apparently one of the interns got tired of doing research and resorted to creativity instead. I wonder what kind of professional recommendations that intern got for improving the office decor. I also wonder if the office personnel would appreciate a paper clip sculpture. I confess, I might find that more of a challenge than researching the Liberian constitution.
The secretary at the front desk has a shrunken head exhibit from Korea. She has all kinds of other trinkets in her collection—painted eggs from the Poland, wood carvings from Jerusalem, needle points from Switzerland—but I’m always captivated by the shrunken heads aligned in neat little rows, protected by a shield of framed glass. Her name is Lindsay and she smiles a very cheerful smile every day. I can't help but think, "All the better to eat you with."
There’s a man that sits on the corner of 18th and H Street every morning and plays a trumpet. He plays in short, staccato spurts, demonstrating prowess with high notes in unexpected intervals. I first heard him play the national anthem on my walk to work and I’ve listened for him every day since. I caught a glimpse of him in a tattered brown coat with a reflectors on the sleeves—probably a coat donated by a construction worker. Sometimes I have to stop and listen to him play those crisp notes in the cold air. So far, Come Thou Fount is my favorite of his songs.
The scholars that I’m working with are both intelligent men and about as different as one would expect, both in aspect and in demeanor. One of them is purely legs. He wears the same pair of jeans to work every day because I don’t think he can find any other pants with legs that are long enough to fit him. Occasionally these pants are accompanied by a button-up shirt and suit coat, just in case he has to appear for an interview on television. After all, the audience only sees the upper half of your body. So he wears a suit on top, and jeans and combat boots on the bottom. Not sure where he got the combat boots but they really look like they’ve been through some combat. The other is a short man, and he rests his hands on his belly when he speaks for any considerable length of time. Whereas the first can only tolerate my presence or my communication for two minute intervals, the second man likes to hear himself talk about as much as possible. This morning he kept me, riveted audience that I was, entertained with a long monologue about how he only deigned to visit Las Vegas when his aunt couldn’t fly on airplanes anymore. I was as confused as you may be about how all this talk of Las Vegas tied into the political situation in the Ivory Coast or land ownership in Liberia, but then, his intelligence surpasses us all. I like him though. He's a cheerful fellow and he has more respect for my intelligence than the first scholar. I think the first scholar is under the impression that I'm suffering from a lack of education over the eighth grade. I intend to address him about it tomorrow and use nothing less than five syllable words. He may not understand what I'm saying, but that will prove my point perfectly.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Identity crises are not just for old men and fancy cars
Did anyone else go through an identity crisis in their college years?
Living in a town where the people seem larger than life creates the perfect impetus for the individual examination of purpose and plan. The backdrop of the United States government can make you feel really small and unimportant, especially when you scurry every day through the shadows of the monuments to truly great men such as Washington and Lincoln. Today as I was walking home from work, every street had police blockades and federal sentinels stationed to guard the way as the Chinese president and his minions made their way in a siren-blaring motorcade to the state dinner at the White House. Hordes of protesters for Tibetan freedom chanted in rhythm about Hu Jintao's "failed leadership" and carried a mock-style coffin for the CCP "dead party." I speak to my fellow interns and they talk about going to Congressional meetings, briefing the undersecretary of the national treasury, or some other world-shaking project. Am I the only one who came to Washington, DC to find out where I wanted to go? Everyone, it seems, has an axe to grind or a platform to push. So where's my axe?
I can think of plenty of things that I feel passionate about, but I don't know if I want to make them my life purpose. For instance, I know that Liberia has some serious problems with incorporating their traditional judicial systems with the formal judicial system created by the new government. There's only one lawyer in the entire country with the background and education necessary to deal with juvenile delinquency. As it stands now, it would take ten years where a majority of students studied law in order for the judicial system to even begin to fill the posts necessary to run the formal system. Until then, they rely on the traditional tribal means of obtaining justice--systems that often implement torturous practices such as trial by ordeal. I recognize this as a situation that needs help and assistance. Do I want to make it my life purpose?
You see, I don't know if there's anything that I can think of that would inspire enough passion within me to keep me going for a lifetime of dedication. There's so much power in focus. People like Gandhi, Mother Theresa, and other remarkable figures found a cause to which they could dedicate their lives, and they stuck to it. I guess I came to Washington to find something like that--something that would help me catch a vision or glimpse of what I could accomplish with the ensuing years.
Instead, I'm working as a glorified secretary. Not even glorified, really. I just go by a different name: intern. I don't mind, honestly. I'm learning a lot. I can't tell you how much I've learned about the American government process, the state of the modern media, the Arab-Israeli peace negotiations, and the Liberian civil war. Not to mention the fact that I've added about twenty new words to my vocabulary (anathema, diaspora, plebiscite, pelf, unctuous). I appreciate these opportunities. But I guess I don't feel as though they're bringing me any closer to discovering my driving purpose for my career.
It doesn't have anything to do with money. I can handle being poor if it's for a cause. I can also probably handle being rich (I'll let you know when I try it). It has everything to do with waking up in the morning knowing that I belong somewhere--knowing that I have a meaningful, significant place, however small. I've only ever had this feeling a few times in my life. One of them was when I served my mission for my church. Never before and never since have I felt such a sense of purpose and meaning. Not sure where it went.
Living in a town where the people seem larger than life creates the perfect impetus for the individual examination of purpose and plan. The backdrop of the United States government can make you feel really small and unimportant, especially when you scurry every day through the shadows of the monuments to truly great men such as Washington and Lincoln. Today as I was walking home from work, every street had police blockades and federal sentinels stationed to guard the way as the Chinese president and his minions made their way in a siren-blaring motorcade to the state dinner at the White House. Hordes of protesters for Tibetan freedom chanted in rhythm about Hu Jintao's "failed leadership" and carried a mock-style coffin for the CCP "dead party." I speak to my fellow interns and they talk about going to Congressional meetings, briefing the undersecretary of the national treasury, or some other world-shaking project. Am I the only one who came to Washington, DC to find out where I wanted to go? Everyone, it seems, has an axe to grind or a platform to push. So where's my axe?
I can think of plenty of things that I feel passionate about, but I don't know if I want to make them my life purpose. For instance, I know that Liberia has some serious problems with incorporating their traditional judicial systems with the formal judicial system created by the new government. There's only one lawyer in the entire country with the background and education necessary to deal with juvenile delinquency. As it stands now, it would take ten years where a majority of students studied law in order for the judicial system to even begin to fill the posts necessary to run the formal system. Until then, they rely on the traditional tribal means of obtaining justice--systems that often implement torturous practices such as trial by ordeal. I recognize this as a situation that needs help and assistance. Do I want to make it my life purpose?
You see, I don't know if there's anything that I can think of that would inspire enough passion within me to keep me going for a lifetime of dedication. There's so much power in focus. People like Gandhi, Mother Theresa, and other remarkable figures found a cause to which they could dedicate their lives, and they stuck to it. I guess I came to Washington to find something like that--something that would help me catch a vision or glimpse of what I could accomplish with the ensuing years.
Instead, I'm working as a glorified secretary. Not even glorified, really. I just go by a different name: intern. I don't mind, honestly. I'm learning a lot. I can't tell you how much I've learned about the American government process, the state of the modern media, the Arab-Israeli peace negotiations, and the Liberian civil war. Not to mention the fact that I've added about twenty new words to my vocabulary (anathema, diaspora, plebiscite, pelf, unctuous). I appreciate these opportunities. But I guess I don't feel as though they're bringing me any closer to discovering my driving purpose for my career.
It doesn't have anything to do with money. I can handle being poor if it's for a cause. I can also probably handle being rich (I'll let you know when I try it). It has everything to do with waking up in the morning knowing that I belong somewhere--knowing that I have a meaningful, significant place, however small. I've only ever had this feeling a few times in my life. One of them was when I served my mission for my church. Never before and never since have I felt such a sense of purpose and meaning. Not sure where it went.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Cathedrals and Monuments
I am proud to be an American. I would like to see the children from this country spend a week in Washington, DC, touring the sites, reading the memorials, and learning the history. In remembering the great history of this country, I have re-discovered my love of the Constitution, the Founding Fathers, and courage of the early settlers. For all her mistakes and foibles, I believe in the destiny of America.I cannot think of a single country in the history of the world that has tried to demonstrate Christian charity by coming to the
defense of nations in need. I think of the various empires in Eastern Europe, Asia, or South America, and I can't think of a single instance when another country saw fit to intercede on behalf of those unable to defend their freedoms by their own power. I felt the strength of this heritage as I looked into the faces of the soldiers at the Korean War Memorial. There is a great deal of controversy on this topic, but I believe that we agree to help these nations because of what Abraham Lincoln said in his second inaugural address, that it would be unfit to "wring [your] bread from the sweat of other men's brows." And so we preserve our rights to freedom and liberty, and we preserve the rights of those who call for our aid.The national cathedral is a sight to behold. I have never seen more vibrant colors in stained glass windows.
When I entered the cathedral this afternoon, evensong was going on, and a children's choir from the cathedral school sang gospel hymns and gregorian chants. They ended with "Deep River," one of my favorite African American spirituals. Nobody told ever told me that beauty felt so much like heartache. The harmonies within that song echoed throughout the cathedral halls and honored the memory of the civil rights movement. I'm so grateful that the government of this country has provision for change. It could prove to be our downfall, but it has also proved to be the source of our greatest glory. I stayed to hear the Organ Recital from a prestigious organist, but, aside from the Bach fugue, I enjoyed listening to the spirituals from the children more.I am ever thankful for Sundays. I feel calmer on Sundays, even when they are busy. Sundays sharpen my perspective and remind me of the faith that is the source of my greatest blessings. And because my prayers seem more sincere on Sunday, may God bless America.
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