Unfortunately, the day came. The day that my mourning period for the loss of Steve Jobs was forcibly brought to an end. After performing a 600+ page ritual of appreciation and awe, or in less embellished terms, after finishing Walter Isaacson's biography of Jobs, it is finally time for me to say goodbye to one of my heroes. But before I do that, I have to make it known that I've finally figured out why I've been so fascinated by Jobs in recent years.
As I expressed in my initial post about Steve's passing, I've always preferred Apple products over any other. I've owned them, loved them and allowed them to become completely embedded in my daily life. In part, it's probably because I've always liked to do things a little bit differently and stand out in subtle, yet noticeable ways. But it's also because I'm kind of the ideal Mac person. I love music, I love efficiency, I love creativity. I love quirkiness and beauty in the things I use every day and I like the things I buy to be both accessible and seemingly divine. In my opinion, Apple products are all of these things.
But why Steve? Sure, he's the figurehead for a brand that I love. But why do I care about him as anyone other than the man who delivered the news? Or the man who allowed me to have these things that so perfectly complement my life's wants and needs? If I had to guess, I would say that most were drawn to Steve Jobs as a person because he was a renegade, a rebel, a denizen of the counter-culture who was able to infiltrate the decade-old white washed walls of corporate conference rooms and build an empire of uniqueness, creativity, excitement and, of course, great products. Until I read the biography of Steve, I thought that was why I was drawn to him too.
But as I flew through the pages of Steve's life and read the many narratives of his journey, both from his perspective and from the eyes of everyone else he crossed paths with, I was hit with a big fat reality brick. I am not just intrigued by Steve because of what he's done and how he became this beacon of technological advancement and brand personality in what easily could have been a bleak, stark Big Brother computer world. I am so interested in him because I, in a way, am him. The swings between cold and warm. The unwavering focus on certain things and complete avoidance of others. The mood swings. The preferences in other types of individuals. The ways of relating to and communicating with others. As I read accounts of Steve's decisions, interactions, relationships, quirks, perks and faults, I was astounded to see so many similarities between him and myself.
In a way, coming to this realization is a bit depressing. I want to be like Steve because I'm a genius, a bringer of brilliance, an innovator, a life-changer. Not because I use words and irrational moods as a facade for my sensitivities. Not because I am able to build that facade because I know what hurts and how horrible certain things can make people feel. Not because I'm obsessive over seemingly inconsequential things and incessantly self-controlling and self-aware.
Yet, in a way, this gave me hope. Hope in two directions. The first: it gave me hope that I'll be able to make up for these flaws that I carry deeply ingrained in my personality by doing other things. By trying to be great and hopefully, eventually, achieving greatness. This hope makes me feel as though I'll be able to succeed despite these things that can (and have, in some ways) set me back.
Then, the second, it gave me hope that eventually people will come to fully and completely accept me for who I am as they did Steve. I now see that it is possible for others to come to terms with the type of person that I am, even if it hurts and confuses along the way. Whether my friends, loved ones and colleagues will have it in them to endure my less admirable qualities to make it to that point is an entirely different story. But to see that Steve always stayed true to himself and never once backed down on his intuitive reactions and actions, even though they could have used sugar-coating for the sake of social appropriateness... it made me feel alive. It made me feel like the world will go on if I stop sanding down my natural prickliness just for the sake of making it through a conversation. It made me feel, as periods of self-exploration and -awareness often do, that I'm going to be okay.
Part of why I've started sharing more personal things on this blog is because I think a big part of the common person is the common feeling. There is no question in my mind that we all spend a good amount of our time, at least subconsciously, looking for that person on the other side of the mirror. We want to find someone that we look like, sound like, dress like and, of course, act like, so we can see what's really going on inside ourselves. I've finally found at least one of these in Steve Jobs through reading this book. It would make me feel even more confident in the purpose of this blog if you all shared your similar, or completely different, experiences with me too.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
The Term Limit
Oh how I love when I'm inspired to write about something relevant to the original theme of this blog. Especially when it's about an undercover issue, as opposed to ones that I feel forced to address (The Penn State scandal, the Kardashian non-issue, Occupy --insert city here--). But as usual, I was doing a casual read-over of one of my favorite sites, Gawker, and saw this little ditty about Bill Clinton engaging in conversation about third, non-consecutive presidential terms: http://gawker.com/5857506/bill-clinton-let-presidents-serve-three-terms .
This got me thinking. I've always thought it was pretty cool that George Washington stepped down all those years ago, setting a precedent for presidents to not overstay their welcome. I've also long supported the widely endorsed notion that a lack of executive turn-over has led most of the world's corrupted nations into their corruption. And then of course, there's Joan Didion's quip that you really can stay too long at the fair. So, in theory, you could say I'm a believer in limited terms.
But after reading this cutesy Bill Clinton mention on Gawker, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to the question: which comes first, the chicken or the egg? Except... which comes first, the tyranny or the tyrannical leader? Or better yet: nature vs. nurture? Which creates tyranny: the nature of the government or the individual(s) that leads it? The political scientist in me wants to say there's an answer, but what many years of pondering what makes political entities what they are has taught me is that no matter how many numbers, correlations and historical accounts we take into consideration, there's really no knowing. We can only predict how a nation will turn out. We can't foresee it. So really, maybe there's something else there. Something between the chicken and the egg. Some matrix of nature vs. nurture.
So I ask you: which do you think comes first? The tyranny or the tyrannist? The nature of the government or the nature of the leader? Can it be defined? Or is this another thing that political scientists should throw into the "let's wait and see and define in retrospect" category?
This got me thinking. I've always thought it was pretty cool that George Washington stepped down all those years ago, setting a precedent for presidents to not overstay their welcome. I've also long supported the widely endorsed notion that a lack of executive turn-over has led most of the world's corrupted nations into their corruption. And then of course, there's Joan Didion's quip that you really can stay too long at the fair. So, in theory, you could say I'm a believer in limited terms.
But after reading this cutesy Bill Clinton mention on Gawker, I couldn't help but let my mind wander to the question: which comes first, the chicken or the egg? Except... which comes first, the tyranny or the tyrannical leader? Or better yet: nature vs. nurture? Which creates tyranny: the nature of the government or the individual(s) that leads it? The political scientist in me wants to say there's an answer, but what many years of pondering what makes political entities what they are has taught me is that no matter how many numbers, correlations and historical accounts we take into consideration, there's really no knowing. We can only predict how a nation will turn out. We can't foresee it. So really, maybe there's something else there. Something between the chicken and the egg. Some matrix of nature vs. nurture.
So I ask you: which do you think comes first? The tyranny or the tyrannist? The nature of the government or the nature of the leader? Can it be defined? Or is this another thing that political scientists should throw into the "let's wait and see and define in retrospect" category?
Tuesday, November 1, 2011
Our Little Glass Houses
Ever since the miniature travesty that led to my previous blog post, I've tried to be hyper-self-aware. Not self-conscious. Self-aware, as in I've been trying really hard to take note of my foibles and quirks, all of which have led to situations like what happened last Monday. And unfortunately, I have some diagnoses even after just over a week of self-observation. I was going to title this post "things I'm not very good at," but I didn't want my readers (however few and far between) to think I have a negative outlook on everything because that is very much not the case. This isn't supposed to be a bad thing. It's just observations. And maybe by reading what I've realized about myself, you'll feel inspired to look inward and see what's going on with you.
Diagnosis #1: I am subconsciously resistant to all things indicative of the fact that I'm supposed to be an adult. I have had a pile of papers about "investments" and "mutual funds" from Merrill Lynch sitting underneath my iPod speakers since two weeks after I started my job... which I started on August 15. Whenever my parents mention the word "budget," my entire brain system shuts down and I start singing show tunes in my head to drown them out. And when I meet my colleagues' spouses, I kind of shut down too, almost like I'm not willing to admit that these people have real adult lives, obligations and families to call their own. Talk about a serious case of the Peter Pan's.
Diagnosis #2: I'm really, really bad at opening envelopes. I mean seriously, how does anyone smoothly open an envelope, making it look like it is unused and yet to be sealed? I can't even do it with one of those snazzy knives my dad keeps in his office drawer. I remember when I got my first real corporate pay stub when I interned for the Knicks at Madison Square Garden. I nearly ripped that thing to shreds trying to catch a glimpse of that itty bitty number they call a travel stipend. That was three years ago. Somebody teach me?
Diagnosis #3: I am my father's daughter. And not just because I think everyone's hilarious, especially me. But also because I have a serious selective hearing problem. It's not on purpose though. It's involuntary selective hearing. It's like when someone starts rambling or saying something that my ears think is less important than whatever else I could be paying attention to, I mute the rambling person out and hear nothing but the low buzz of my focus moving elsewhere. Which brings me to my next point...
Diagnosis #4: Adult A.D.D. is real. Or at least it is now that Twitter, Facebook, Gawker, CNN.com, The Drudge Report, Pitchfork, Pinterest, Gchat and every other modern marvel has taken over my arsenal of preferred computer activities. I literally cannot work through a project without taking a second to see what's going on on Twitter or flipping to NYTimes.com to see if there's any breaking news. This is becoming a problem. Except of course when number 5 happens.
Diagnosis #5: Adult A.D.D. does not apply to me simply because of my polar opposite capabilities. If I'm put to an urgent task that I know requires my full attention, I have the ability to flip on my Spotify, flip off the rest of the world and focus. I've actually missed actual natural disasters and people telling me full stories because of this. In fact, I don't know which annoys my colleagues more. Diagnosis #3, #4 or #5 because all of them have turned me into some sort of self-absorbed monster that can only act on what internal, uncontrollable impulses compel me to do. It's sad really. I'm like my own Frankenstein.
Diagnosis #6: I'm actually incapable of NOT having conversations about things. I don't consider myself to be a defensive person, so much as someone who thrives off of, lives on, requires dialogue to move forward from one happening to the next. Whether they're good happenings, bad happenings, stressful or easy ones... I can't just not talk about things. I can't just be told a piece of information and not comment on it. I can't just receive constructive criticism without responding with why I did something and explaining how I'll do it better the next time. And I fear that this annoys people because it probably does come off as really defensive. But that's just who I am. It's my coping mechanism and it's how I learn. By talking things out and coming to conclusions that consider both my side of the story and everyone else's. I'll go ahead and label this one of my "tragic flaws."
Diagnosis #7: The final diagnosis. The one that inspires the title that I decided to go with for this post. Over the years, I've built a nice little glass house around myself with walls and roof so thin that I can barely even see it's there. I could explain the glass house by saying it's because I've had experiences where other people have gotten in the way of my achieving certain goals. So, I learned to shut them out in unhealthy, yet pretty effective ways. I could explain it by saying I'm a news or information junky, that I'm addicted to the know and that I'm driven minute-to-minute, hour-to-hour, by this intense drive to glean absurd amounts of knowledge. Or I could say that I'm just another classic Darwin case. Someone who has adapted to my environments and personal needs in a way that I did not consciously initiate nor can I really control. But I benefit from it.
Regardless, I think we all build ourselves little glass houses over time based on our experiences, or most specifically our great successes, gains, losses and failures. And I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this at all. In fact, I think we'd all be little puddles of melted personality if we didn't protect ourselves a little bit. But it all goes back to this idea that everything should be done in moderation and that self-awareness is the key to personal fulfillment. I'm so glad I've noticed these things about myself because I'm finally able to snap out of each of my ailments whenever necessary. And even though it isn't easy, I know that reaching my potential, achieving my goals and doing what is asked of me is on the other end of it. Now more than ever, when things I do actually matter and impact things way beyond my GPA or dignity, these are all things I need to be a little bit more focused on.
Diagnosis #1: I am subconsciously resistant to all things indicative of the fact that I'm supposed to be an adult. I have had a pile of papers about "investments" and "mutual funds" from Merrill Lynch sitting underneath my iPod speakers since two weeks after I started my job... which I started on August 15. Whenever my parents mention the word "budget," my entire brain system shuts down and I start singing show tunes in my head to drown them out. And when I meet my colleagues' spouses, I kind of shut down too, almost like I'm not willing to admit that these people have real adult lives, obligations and families to call their own. Talk about a serious case of the Peter Pan's.
Diagnosis #2: I'm really, really bad at opening envelopes. I mean seriously, how does anyone smoothly open an envelope, making it look like it is unused and yet to be sealed? I can't even do it with one of those snazzy knives my dad keeps in his office drawer. I remember when I got my first real corporate pay stub when I interned for the Knicks at Madison Square Garden. I nearly ripped that thing to shreds trying to catch a glimpse of that itty bitty number they call a travel stipend. That was three years ago. Somebody teach me?
Diagnosis #3: I am my father's daughter. And not just because I think everyone's hilarious, especially me. But also because I have a serious selective hearing problem. It's not on purpose though. It's involuntary selective hearing. It's like when someone starts rambling or saying something that my ears think is less important than whatever else I could be paying attention to, I mute the rambling person out and hear nothing but the low buzz of my focus moving elsewhere. Which brings me to my next point...
Diagnosis #4: Adult A.D.D. is real. Or at least it is now that Twitter, Facebook, Gawker, CNN.com, The Drudge Report, Pitchfork, Pinterest, Gchat and every other modern marvel has taken over my arsenal of preferred computer activities. I literally cannot work through a project without taking a second to see what's going on on Twitter or flipping to NYTimes.com to see if there's any breaking news. This is becoming a problem. Except of course when number 5 happens.
Diagnosis #5: Adult A.D.D. does not apply to me simply because of my polar opposite capabilities. If I'm put to an urgent task that I know requires my full attention, I have the ability to flip on my Spotify, flip off the rest of the world and focus. I've actually missed actual natural disasters and people telling me full stories because of this. In fact, I don't know which annoys my colleagues more. Diagnosis #3, #4 or #5 because all of them have turned me into some sort of self-absorbed monster that can only act on what internal, uncontrollable impulses compel me to do. It's sad really. I'm like my own Frankenstein.
Diagnosis #6: I'm actually incapable of NOT having conversations about things. I don't consider myself to be a defensive person, so much as someone who thrives off of, lives on, requires dialogue to move forward from one happening to the next. Whether they're good happenings, bad happenings, stressful or easy ones... I can't just not talk about things. I can't just be told a piece of information and not comment on it. I can't just receive constructive criticism without responding with why I did something and explaining how I'll do it better the next time. And I fear that this annoys people because it probably does come off as really defensive. But that's just who I am. It's my coping mechanism and it's how I learn. By talking things out and coming to conclusions that consider both my side of the story and everyone else's. I'll go ahead and label this one of my "tragic flaws."
Diagnosis #7: The final diagnosis. The one that inspires the title that I decided to go with for this post. Over the years, I've built a nice little glass house around myself with walls and roof so thin that I can barely even see it's there. I could explain the glass house by saying it's because I've had experiences where other people have gotten in the way of my achieving certain goals. So, I learned to shut them out in unhealthy, yet pretty effective ways. I could explain it by saying I'm a news or information junky, that I'm addicted to the know and that I'm driven minute-to-minute, hour-to-hour, by this intense drive to glean absurd amounts of knowledge. Or I could say that I'm just another classic Darwin case. Someone who has adapted to my environments and personal needs in a way that I did not consciously initiate nor can I really control. But I benefit from it.
Regardless, I think we all build ourselves little glass houses over time based on our experiences, or most specifically our great successes, gains, losses and failures. And I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this at all. In fact, I think we'd all be little puddles of melted personality if we didn't protect ourselves a little bit. But it all goes back to this idea that everything should be done in moderation and that self-awareness is the key to personal fulfillment. I'm so glad I've noticed these things about myself because I'm finally able to snap out of each of my ailments whenever necessary. And even though it isn't easy, I know that reaching my potential, achieving my goals and doing what is asked of me is on the other end of it. Now more than ever, when things I do actually matter and impact things way beyond my GPA or dignity, these are all things I need to be a little bit more focused on.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Key Learnings & Takeaway 5 Months Into Reality
Given that I've been an avid journal keeper for over four years now, I never feel the need to share anything personal on The Choir. However, I've recently been inspired by the way that Thought Catalog (http://thoughtcatalog.com/) shares deeply personal and relatable messages in such an impersonal, unassuming way. And after the day I had yesterday, I feel the need to share my personal key learnings in the most general way possible too. Interestingly enough they fall into one category: we're all clueless.
1. You think you know what you're doing until you get smacked in the face with the fact that you don't. No matter how much experience you have with a certain type of person, project, vessel of communication, there's really no mastering of anything. Circumstances always get in the way. Other people, projects, forms of communication get in the way. And then, regardless of how much control you are capable of taking over a situation, your control can easily be lost.
The takeaway? I have been trying to master the art of keeping calm and letting things work out for a while now. But having recently tiptoed a little too far over that line, I have seen why my psyche has always kept me naturally anxious. While it's great to be able to keep collected in moments of stress, it's essential to never overestimate the power that you really have over a situation. Always expect that the worst can happen. Always anticipate that, no matter what you do to prevent it, the worst will happen.
2. True friendship is more obvious than you want to believe. So often we find ourselves making excuses for people who half-ass their relationships with us. It's because we enjoy their company, we have history, or simply because they're there. But then they don't call. They don't carry their weight. And you're left wondering, how are we friends and yet they can't have the courtesy to make plans with me until 5 minutes before? How are we friends and yet I feel like I can't text them, call them or ask them to hang out whenever I want? Or the best - this person is annoying me. They are supporting me in decisions that are destructive of either myself or people I care about. They are molding my thought processes to suit their needs from me right now, not my needs for me for the rest of my life.
The takeaway? If you're asking yourself these questions or realizing these things about these people that you have so conveniently labeled as friends, then maybe the word 'friend' should be reconsidered. I wish that there was a middle-ground word like "friends with benefits" or "main squeeze" that applied to the friend world because there has to be something between acquaintance and friend. There has to be something that defines that grey area where frustration, secrecy, exclusivity, selfishness and annoyance seep in. But regardless, I know who my friends really are and who they aren't. I know who I can communicate with freely without being self-conscious and who I can't. And you do too. Think about it.
3. And finally, the kicker. The one thing that has been nagging me since around this date 5 months ago and has materialized in more ways than I'd like it to. People are disappointing. People will disappoint you. And no matter how long you know and love them, no matter what they have said to or done for you in the past, no matter how many heart strings and memories pull you back into believing that they are truly good, but they're just lost... there is nothing that can change this. And I don't just mean friends, lovers or families. Bosses and colleagues can do this too. People let other people down all the time without even an inkling of accountability and the person who is the newest or lowest on the totem pole inevitably ends up being the one who feels the guilt.
The takeaway? If you know what I mean by this, being let down in a variety of settings, then you know the first step to moving past it is managing yourself. Remain self-aware. Keep in touch with your role in certain situations. Don't lose sight of what things you are responsible for, but also don't let yourself fall into that bottomless pit of unwarranted guilt dug only by the greatest disappointments in people we care about, trust and believe in. Love, loss, wins, failures - these are all two way streets. But traffic doesn't always happen in both directions at once.
4. I know I said number 3 was the last one, but I can't help myself. While I was studying in London, I took a yoga class at my gym and the instructor said something I'll never forget. She told us that she knew we were in pain at some points during the class and that it was okay to feel and recognize pain. But at the end of the day, it was up to us to choose whether or not we were going to react to it. We could feel the pain and fixate on it and act on it by inevitably falling to the ground and giving up. Or we could feel the pain, acknowledge it and persevere. In all situations, it is essential that we feel the way we feel and acknowledge the way we feel. But that anxiety, emotion, anger, etc. that acts like a parasite on our conscience is the product of a reaction to, not an acknowledgment of, things that we have experienced. Happiness and peace with a situation does not come from dwelling, exploding and bursting into flames. Happiness and peace comes from a recognition of tension followed by, in time, movement onward.
The takeaway for all of this, as I forewarned, is that we are clueless. But we don't always have to be. There are so many signs in our daily lives screaming at us to make decisions, change decisions, disconnect, reconnect, take accountability for ourselves, and LEARN something from these years and years of being tortured by life's twists and turns. And I know it sounds so much easier said than done, but if I have the time to realize these things from past experiences while still getting punched in the face by new ones, then I know you can too.
1. You think you know what you're doing until you get smacked in the face with the fact that you don't. No matter how much experience you have with a certain type of person, project, vessel of communication, there's really no mastering of anything. Circumstances always get in the way. Other people, projects, forms of communication get in the way. And then, regardless of how much control you are capable of taking over a situation, your control can easily be lost.
The takeaway? I have been trying to master the art of keeping calm and letting things work out for a while now. But having recently tiptoed a little too far over that line, I have seen why my psyche has always kept me naturally anxious. While it's great to be able to keep collected in moments of stress, it's essential to never overestimate the power that you really have over a situation. Always expect that the worst can happen. Always anticipate that, no matter what you do to prevent it, the worst will happen.
2. True friendship is more obvious than you want to believe. So often we find ourselves making excuses for people who half-ass their relationships with us. It's because we enjoy their company, we have history, or simply because they're there. But then they don't call. They don't carry their weight. And you're left wondering, how are we friends and yet they can't have the courtesy to make plans with me until 5 minutes before? How are we friends and yet I feel like I can't text them, call them or ask them to hang out whenever I want? Or the best - this person is annoying me. They are supporting me in decisions that are destructive of either myself or people I care about. They are molding my thought processes to suit their needs from me right now, not my needs for me for the rest of my life.
The takeaway? If you're asking yourself these questions or realizing these things about these people that you have so conveniently labeled as friends, then maybe the word 'friend' should be reconsidered. I wish that there was a middle-ground word like "friends with benefits" or "main squeeze" that applied to the friend world because there has to be something between acquaintance and friend. There has to be something that defines that grey area where frustration, secrecy, exclusivity, selfishness and annoyance seep in. But regardless, I know who my friends really are and who they aren't. I know who I can communicate with freely without being self-conscious and who I can't. And you do too. Think about it.
3. And finally, the kicker. The one thing that has been nagging me since around this date 5 months ago and has materialized in more ways than I'd like it to. People are disappointing. People will disappoint you. And no matter how long you know and love them, no matter what they have said to or done for you in the past, no matter how many heart strings and memories pull you back into believing that they are truly good, but they're just lost... there is nothing that can change this. And I don't just mean friends, lovers or families. Bosses and colleagues can do this too. People let other people down all the time without even an inkling of accountability and the person who is the newest or lowest on the totem pole inevitably ends up being the one who feels the guilt.
The takeaway? If you know what I mean by this, being let down in a variety of settings, then you know the first step to moving past it is managing yourself. Remain self-aware. Keep in touch with your role in certain situations. Don't lose sight of what things you are responsible for, but also don't let yourself fall into that bottomless pit of unwarranted guilt dug only by the greatest disappointments in people we care about, trust and believe in. Love, loss, wins, failures - these are all two way streets. But traffic doesn't always happen in both directions at once.
4. I know I said number 3 was the last one, but I can't help myself. While I was studying in London, I took a yoga class at my gym and the instructor said something I'll never forget. She told us that she knew we were in pain at some points during the class and that it was okay to feel and recognize pain. But at the end of the day, it was up to us to choose whether or not we were going to react to it. We could feel the pain and fixate on it and act on it by inevitably falling to the ground and giving up. Or we could feel the pain, acknowledge it and persevere. In all situations, it is essential that we feel the way we feel and acknowledge the way we feel. But that anxiety, emotion, anger, etc. that acts like a parasite on our conscience is the product of a reaction to, not an acknowledgment of, things that we have experienced. Happiness and peace with a situation does not come from dwelling, exploding and bursting into flames. Happiness and peace comes from a recognition of tension followed by, in time, movement onward.
The takeaway for all of this, as I forewarned, is that we are clueless. But we don't always have to be. There are so many signs in our daily lives screaming at us to make decisions, change decisions, disconnect, reconnect, take accountability for ourselves, and LEARN something from these years and years of being tortured by life's twists and turns. And I know it sounds so much easier said than done, but if I have the time to realize these things from past experiences while still getting punched in the face by new ones, then I know you can too.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
We are the lucky ones.
Our grandparents remember where they were when they heard about Pearl Harbor.
Our parents remember where they were when they heard about JFK's assassination.
We remember where we were when we heard about 9/11.
All of these were pinnacle, jarring moments in contemporary American history. They were memorable because they meant something more than loss of life or war. They were occurrences that shattered our sense of security, our symbols of freedom or strength or power. That, in a way, is why I think I will always remember where I was when I heard about the passing of Steve Jobs. Not the complete details of the time or place or people I was near like I remember from 9/11. But where I was both in my life and in my extremely distant relationship with him.
In part, I'll remember where I was with Steve because my respect and admiration for him had recently reached its peak. Just a few weeks before, I was reading Wall Street Journal and Daily Telegraph feature stories made up of Steve's many unintentional mantras and isms. In fact, I finished my third journal from college life, a symbolic step of transition into my big girl shoes, by transcribing several of those quotations in the back. My emotional investment in him had been growing exponentially since I got my first Mac product probably a decade ago only to reach this expected and yet still horrible loss.
I've always been fascinated with Steve Jobs because he was a renegade and he made products that we don't just want, need or use. They are products that we cohabitate with, that are fully integrated into our lives in a way unlike any other:
The iPod is where many of us go to escape or distract ourselves; It's where we go to listen to music and books, to free ourselves from reality even if that reality is just the banging of our feet on the pavement during a mid-afternoon jog.
The MacBook and Powerbooks and the rest of their families, they've fed our curiosity, efficiency and creativity. They've made our lives easier and enabled us to be more complex.
The iPad - where do we even begin? Do you remember how the bloggers were snickering at how mesmerized everyone was by it? Do you remember how they made fun of the name and questioned its relevance? Today, our doctors use them, our President uses one, and as I write, education institutions from pre-kindergarten to graduate schools are using them. They have changed our world.
And sure these are just products. Just things. But each of them embodies the same values that made Steve so successful and great. The same values he espoused and lived for. The same values that he wants us to live for too.
This brings me to my other point. I will never forget where I was when Steve Jobs finally succumbed to pancreatic cancer. I will never forget how perfect it was. I had been talking so much about how much I had grown up in the past few months. You know - the new city, the new job, the new friends and new responsibilities. I had been so wrapped up in how scary and challenging it has all been and how I have consequently become more adult and more myself because of it. But then Steve died. This man, this spirit who has unknowingly carried the torch for my evolution into the best version of myself, was gone. And I couldn't bare to hear the news even though I had never met him. I was overwhelmed with sadness and in a way I felt lost.
It was a ridiculous reaction for someone so adult to have. But almost 24 hours later, I'm realizing that it's because I know in my heart that I'm not all the way there yet. I've read his words, I've internalized his lessons and I've let him inspire me. But I'm not all-the-way Steve. I have been so impacted by his passing because I thought I'd be able to pull myself together before he left us. I thought that he would leave and I would be okay with the world because I knew that at least I had come to embody his view of the ideal being and the ideal life. But I was wrong, so I've taken it upon myself to look at it all from a different perspective.
Steve's passing came at the perfect time because it was right about when I was getting complacent. When I was starting to look away from myself and back at my external circumstances, forgetting that it's my responsibility to be who I am and become the person I know I should be. I wish that I could honor Steve's death by revamping my collection of Apple products so I can further evangelize his genius to the masses by flaunting his gadgets. But unfortunately, I only have enough money to my name to split the cost of a pre-ordered hard copy of the Steve Jobs biography with my dad. The good thing however is that I don't think that's necessarily what Steve wanted me to be doing anyway.
Steve wanted me... he wanted all of us to be the branches of the tree he so humbly planted in our minds and in our hearts. He wanted us to share the love, the curiosity and the intellect for betterment and advancement, not just for the sake of knowing and doing things. He wanted us to live the same values that his brand embodies, but instead of in the technological landscape, he wanted us to do it in the rest of the world. He wanted us to be more than good, more than great. He wanted us to be extraordinary. And not because he was overly optimistic, idealistic or stuck in clouds of riches and fame. It was because he knew that he was just another guy with creativity and ideas, who was unique because he was bold enough to implement them. And he was so humble that he told us that if he could do it, we could do it to.
You got to where you were because you took the time to know yourself. And every day, you challenged the person you were in the moment to become the better version you knew you could be. We know you felt lucky for how much you were able to accomplish. We know you felt lucky for how people welcomed you, your ideas and your products into their lives. But, Steve, we are the lucky ones. We are the ones who you welcomed into your world and we will forever be compelled to be better because of it.
Thanks for everything.
Our parents remember where they were when they heard about JFK's assassination.
We remember where we were when we heard about 9/11.
All of these were pinnacle, jarring moments in contemporary American history. They were memorable because they meant something more than loss of life or war. They were occurrences that shattered our sense of security, our symbols of freedom or strength or power. That, in a way, is why I think I will always remember where I was when I heard about the passing of Steve Jobs. Not the complete details of the time or place or people I was near like I remember from 9/11. But where I was both in my life and in my extremely distant relationship with him.
In part, I'll remember where I was with Steve because my respect and admiration for him had recently reached its peak. Just a few weeks before, I was reading Wall Street Journal and Daily Telegraph feature stories made up of Steve's many unintentional mantras and isms. In fact, I finished my third journal from college life, a symbolic step of transition into my big girl shoes, by transcribing several of those quotations in the back. My emotional investment in him had been growing exponentially since I got my first Mac product probably a decade ago only to reach this expected and yet still horrible loss.
I've always been fascinated with Steve Jobs because he was a renegade and he made products that we don't just want, need or use. They are products that we cohabitate with, that are fully integrated into our lives in a way unlike any other:
The iPod is where many of us go to escape or distract ourselves; It's where we go to listen to music and books, to free ourselves from reality even if that reality is just the banging of our feet on the pavement during a mid-afternoon jog.
The MacBook and Powerbooks and the rest of their families, they've fed our curiosity, efficiency and creativity. They've made our lives easier and enabled us to be more complex.
The iPad - where do we even begin? Do you remember how the bloggers were snickering at how mesmerized everyone was by it? Do you remember how they made fun of the name and questioned its relevance? Today, our doctors use them, our President uses one, and as I write, education institutions from pre-kindergarten to graduate schools are using them. They have changed our world.
And sure these are just products. Just things. But each of them embodies the same values that made Steve so successful and great. The same values he espoused and lived for. The same values that he wants us to live for too.
This brings me to my other point. I will never forget where I was when Steve Jobs finally succumbed to pancreatic cancer. I will never forget how perfect it was. I had been talking so much about how much I had grown up in the past few months. You know - the new city, the new job, the new friends and new responsibilities. I had been so wrapped up in how scary and challenging it has all been and how I have consequently become more adult and more myself because of it. But then Steve died. This man, this spirit who has unknowingly carried the torch for my evolution into the best version of myself, was gone. And I couldn't bare to hear the news even though I had never met him. I was overwhelmed with sadness and in a way I felt lost.
It was a ridiculous reaction for someone so adult to have. But almost 24 hours later, I'm realizing that it's because I know in my heart that I'm not all the way there yet. I've read his words, I've internalized his lessons and I've let him inspire me. But I'm not all-the-way Steve. I have been so impacted by his passing because I thought I'd be able to pull myself together before he left us. I thought that he would leave and I would be okay with the world because I knew that at least I had come to embody his view of the ideal being and the ideal life. But I was wrong, so I've taken it upon myself to look at it all from a different perspective.
Steve's passing came at the perfect time because it was right about when I was getting complacent. When I was starting to look away from myself and back at my external circumstances, forgetting that it's my responsibility to be who I am and become the person I know I should be. I wish that I could honor Steve's death by revamping my collection of Apple products so I can further evangelize his genius to the masses by flaunting his gadgets. But unfortunately, I only have enough money to my name to split the cost of a pre-ordered hard copy of the Steve Jobs biography with my dad. The good thing however is that I don't think that's necessarily what Steve wanted me to be doing anyway.
Steve wanted me... he wanted all of us to be the branches of the tree he so humbly planted in our minds and in our hearts. He wanted us to share the love, the curiosity and the intellect for betterment and advancement, not just for the sake of knowing and doing things. He wanted us to live the same values that his brand embodies, but instead of in the technological landscape, he wanted us to do it in the rest of the world. He wanted us to be more than good, more than great. He wanted us to be extraordinary. And not because he was overly optimistic, idealistic or stuck in clouds of riches and fame. It was because he knew that he was just another guy with creativity and ideas, who was unique because he was bold enough to implement them. And he was so humble that he told us that if he could do it, we could do it to.
You got to where you were because you took the time to know yourself. And every day, you challenged the person you were in the moment to become the better version you knew you could be. We know you felt lucky for how much you were able to accomplish. We know you felt lucky for how people welcomed you, your ideas and your products into their lives. But, Steve, we are the lucky ones. We are the ones who you welcomed into your world and we will forever be compelled to be better because of it.
Thanks for everything.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Where I'll Go From Here
How am I supposed to start a blog post describing how indescribable and untouchable this day is? With hyperbole: SHOCK AND AWE? With an anecdote about where I was and what I was feeling? None of it feels right. And that's how I have felt all weekend, that nothing about this day feels right.
Waking up made me feel guilty that I was still alive and so many of my fellow Americans aren't. Eating breakfast this morning made me feel sick because I know how my body reacts to sadness and anger and if I had lost someone on that day, I know I wouldn't be able to eat. Watching the reading of the names of those fallen on NBC's coverage of the memorial felt morbid; all of these names, short, long, foreign or familiar, so unfortunately meaningless now that their assigned souls have been gone for a decade. Walking outside was eerie and lonely, as I couldn't help but feel outnumbered by the ghosts of angels wandering the streets still covered in dust and overpowered by threats of more violence. Celebrating a touch-down at a sports bar, still tired from a decadent weekend whose aftermath is only more exaggerated by an oncoming autumn cold... that too just felt wrong even though sports are my favorite symbol of American pride, spirit and strength.
But then, I finally made my way home for an afternoon nap and awoke to the opportunity to sit back and read my very first New York Times Sunday Edition. I was gifted an online plus Sunday Times subscription by my father after running out of free articles on both my work and personal computers just days into September. In all honesty, when I woke up this morning, I had forgotten about the gift, as I wasn't expecting for the subscription to begin quite yet. But finding that paper glowing in its grey glory on my doorstep this morning as I parted for the day was like catching the distant light of a beacon of hope. It brought me out of the clouds of remembering that day and fearing the now and embedded me back into my romanticized view of reality, laden with a twisted fear inspired by knowing too much, but diluted with a genuine belief that everything is going to be okay.
I began with the sports section, updating myself on the narratives surrounding my 2011 team-of-choice's match-up tonight (let's go Jets!). Then I flipped through the Sunday Styles section, reading about Fashion Week, old restaurants that have held their own in this ever-changing city and even a beautifully written testimony to modern love, crafted by a sophomore at University at Alabama. Then, I let myself delve into the main section, which included page after page of articles covering every angle of September 11, 2001-2011. And then the symbolic nature of my ceremonial act, reading an iconic American paper from the city that felt the pain of that fateful day the most, became clear. I had found the right way to live this day.
As a self-diagnosed news junkie, I can't say I hate the access to information that we have due to the Internet. If I'm not deeply involved in conversation or a project at work, then I'm probably scouring Twitter, the Drudge Report, CNN, Gawker, etc. for as much news as possible. But there's something about holding that paper in your hands with no other distractions glaring at you from all corners of a computer screen that gives reading the news more meaning: You're giving reality your full attention. You're acknowledging what's going on in the world. You are wholeheartedly directing your focus toward what is going on in the lives of others. You are covering your hands in the ink that has written the history of our world. To me, it seems like the ultimate homage to the heroes and victims of our world aside from becoming one myself and sitting on my bed, surrounded by the New York Times, was the first time all day that I felt I was doing what I should be doing.
When I look back on September 11, 2001, I remember shock: the frozen faces and dropped jaws. Even the world's most reputable news anchors were speechless as the planes hit, the towers fell and our nation stood helpless as shards of lost life and collapsed dreams shuttled through the streets our country's most loved, and needed, cities. To this day, I never really knew what to do with myself other than read about new terrorist threats and talk to other people about where they were. But ten years out, it only feels right to find a quieter way to mourn, a more personal way to reflect.
My point of this rambling is that I am more at peace with 9/11/01 now that I've found the right way to live this day for the rest of my life. I will always be scared because, as a news junkie, I do know too much. And I'll always feel guilty and sad, as I don't think anyone who was alive and conscious on that day can feel any different at least for a moment. But to move on from things or at least to come to terms with them, we need a ritual that encapsulates the meaning of the event without creating such a wave in our lives that we can't feel like things have gotten better. For me, it will be thinking about this glorious city, this beautiful country and all of the stories and people that create the global context that makes us so great. For me, it will be giving that day the gift of thought and attention, concern and deep thought. For me, it will be reading the New York Times.
Waking up made me feel guilty that I was still alive and so many of my fellow Americans aren't. Eating breakfast this morning made me feel sick because I know how my body reacts to sadness and anger and if I had lost someone on that day, I know I wouldn't be able to eat. Watching the reading of the names of those fallen on NBC's coverage of the memorial felt morbid; all of these names, short, long, foreign or familiar, so unfortunately meaningless now that their assigned souls have been gone for a decade. Walking outside was eerie and lonely, as I couldn't help but feel outnumbered by the ghosts of angels wandering the streets still covered in dust and overpowered by threats of more violence. Celebrating a touch-down at a sports bar, still tired from a decadent weekend whose aftermath is only more exaggerated by an oncoming autumn cold... that too just felt wrong even though sports are my favorite symbol of American pride, spirit and strength.
But then, I finally made my way home for an afternoon nap and awoke to the opportunity to sit back and read my very first New York Times Sunday Edition. I was gifted an online plus Sunday Times subscription by my father after running out of free articles on both my work and personal computers just days into September. In all honesty, when I woke up this morning, I had forgotten about the gift, as I wasn't expecting for the subscription to begin quite yet. But finding that paper glowing in its grey glory on my doorstep this morning as I parted for the day was like catching the distant light of a beacon of hope. It brought me out of the clouds of remembering that day and fearing the now and embedded me back into my romanticized view of reality, laden with a twisted fear inspired by knowing too much, but diluted with a genuine belief that everything is going to be okay.
I began with the sports section, updating myself on the narratives surrounding my 2011 team-of-choice's match-up tonight (let's go Jets!). Then I flipped through the Sunday Styles section, reading about Fashion Week, old restaurants that have held their own in this ever-changing city and even a beautifully written testimony to modern love, crafted by a sophomore at University at Alabama. Then, I let myself delve into the main section, which included page after page of articles covering every angle of September 11, 2001-2011. And then the symbolic nature of my ceremonial act, reading an iconic American paper from the city that felt the pain of that fateful day the most, became clear. I had found the right way to live this day.
As a self-diagnosed news junkie, I can't say I hate the access to information that we have due to the Internet. If I'm not deeply involved in conversation or a project at work, then I'm probably scouring Twitter, the Drudge Report, CNN, Gawker, etc. for as much news as possible. But there's something about holding that paper in your hands with no other distractions glaring at you from all corners of a computer screen that gives reading the news more meaning: You're giving reality your full attention. You're acknowledging what's going on in the world. You are wholeheartedly directing your focus toward what is going on in the lives of others. You are covering your hands in the ink that has written the history of our world. To me, it seems like the ultimate homage to the heroes and victims of our world aside from becoming one myself and sitting on my bed, surrounded by the New York Times, was the first time all day that I felt I was doing what I should be doing.
When I look back on September 11, 2001, I remember shock: the frozen faces and dropped jaws. Even the world's most reputable news anchors were speechless as the planes hit, the towers fell and our nation stood helpless as shards of lost life and collapsed dreams shuttled through the streets our country's most loved, and needed, cities. To this day, I never really knew what to do with myself other than read about new terrorist threats and talk to other people about where they were. But ten years out, it only feels right to find a quieter way to mourn, a more personal way to reflect.
My point of this rambling is that I am more at peace with 9/11/01 now that I've found the right way to live this day for the rest of my life. I will always be scared because, as a news junkie, I do know too much. And I'll always feel guilty and sad, as I don't think anyone who was alive and conscious on that day can feel any different at least for a moment. But to move on from things or at least to come to terms with them, we need a ritual that encapsulates the meaning of the event without creating such a wave in our lives that we can't feel like things have gotten better. For me, it will be thinking about this glorious city, this beautiful country and all of the stories and people that create the global context that makes us so great. For me, it will be giving that day the gift of thought and attention, concern and deep thought. For me, it will be reading the New York Times.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
The Ballad of Casey Anthony
In thinking about how to start this particular blog post, I came to a slightly embarrassing realization. But not embarrassing for me. Embarrassing for the general public. You see, all along I have felt that maybe it isn’t us, the people, who are polarizing, closed-minded and presumptuous, but instead it was the media that made us look that way. However, in the 24 hours since the verdict for Casey Anthony in her first-degree murder trial was read, I have seen that it is not just the fault of the media; they might be the ones holding up the funhouse mirror, but we’re the ones who are accepting that reflection as truth.
As a Florida native who has been exposed to coverage of the death of Caylee Anthony since she was considered a missing person, I get the frustration and anger that the general public feels about yesterday’s verdict. Nobody wants to believe that a mother could murder her own adorable daughter, but everybody was waiting to place blame somewhere so that the little girl could rest in peace and the country could move on. Plus, how could Casey not be blamed for it? The lies. The Google searches. The stench. The hot body contest. All of us maintained that our justice system would serve Casey Anthony right and that the truth of the circumstances surrounding Caylee’s disappearance and subsequent death would come to light. Yet, when it was announced that the jury did not have enough evidence to, beyond reasonable doubt, declare Casey Anthony guilty of first-degree murder, suddenly the justice system was worthless and those conventions that have prevented innocent men and women from being assumed guilty and sent to death row were considered matters of red tape that are letting a cold-blooded killer walk. And the media turbines keep spinning and spinning and suddenly we’re mesmerized. It has to stop. Now.
How about we all take a step back from our fixation with the Orlando Witch Trial and look at this with a little deductive reasoning? The jury unanimously found Casey Anthony not guilty of first degree murder. The general public and the media pretty clearly feel that Casey Anthony is guilty of first-degree murder. We all live-streamed the proceedings on CNN.com, so we heard all that the jury heard. We all read the paper every morning, so we saw the same evidence that the jury saw. So how is it possible that there is such a glaring difference in how the people and the jury feel? The fact is that there is only one differentiating factor between how the general public and the jury were exposed to the case: access to popular media.
I wouldn’t dare say that I didn’t indulge in the media banter surrounding Casey Anthony’s trial. I too read CNN religiously to catch up on the latest developments in the story and I loved listening to the insight provided by lawyers, forensic experts, etc. on The Today Show and HLN. Yet, for some reason, it appears as though I was the only one who did all of this without becoming an opinionated zombie. Maybe this is because I have been educated in journalism, specifically broadcast journalism, so I was aware of the inherent bias in story and guest selection. Or perhaps it’s because I’m the type of person who has an entire blog devoted to the need to consider all sides of a circumstance before passing judgment. Yet, regardless, the fact that I was practically standing alone in my expression of acceptance of the jury’s findings yesterday is terrifying to me. When did we get so closed minded? When did we get so self-righteous? Just because Nancy Grace thinks that she can make her own little court with brainwashed viewers as a phone-in jury and well-paid professionals with no connection to the case as expert witnesses doesn’t mean that we have to anoint ourselves as judges too. We are all subject to the same justice system that Casey Anthony was subject to and I can’t imagine that anyone else out there would like to leave their fate to a popular vote. The law is the law and our judicial procedures are sound. If you have a problem with the fact that a person cannot be convicted unless the jury determines their guilt beyond reasonable doubt and with suitable evidence, then protest our system as a whole or live elsewhere.
A side note: Something that makes me blush almost as much as the second-hand embarrassment I experienced while reading other people’s personal Twitter rants yesterday is the fact that we let this trial get as big as it did. Casey Anthony was not a star athlete who had already established her news-worthiness through her past accolades like OJ Simpson had. She was just another young mother who made some bad decisions, lied to authorities and perhaps murdered her daughter. According to the book Parenthood and Mental Health: A Bridge Between Infant and Adult Psychiatry by Sam Tyano, Miri Keren, Helen Herrman, John Cox, 61% of children under the age of five who were murdered between 1975-2000 were killed by one of their parents. Thus we cannot attribute the excessive media attention placed on Casey Anthony’s trial to the unique circumstance that a mother was accused of killing her child because the circumstance really was not all that unique. Looking back on the last few "It-Crimes" (Scott Petersen, Natalee Holloway, Chandra Levy, etc.) you have to wonder why only a few of these person-disappears-suspect-denies-it-big-trial-ensues situations have dominated cable news crime coverage in the past decade despite the absurd statistics about how often this actually happens in our country. But really there are only two ways to comprehend it; either we accept that we are all pre-disposed to Salem-Witch-Trial Syndrome or we go the sexier route and blame the news: Selection. Selection. Selection.
I know how important the media is to democracy and freedom. I cherish the access to information that we have as a result of the hard work of the hundreds of passionate, insightful and curious news reporters and producers out there. However, with the power the journalism industry has comes an even greater responsibility: to inform without bias in selection, content or exposure. Far too many members of the media came dangerously close to ignoring this responsibility during the Casey Anthony trial. And as much as it pains me to agree with anything said by the defense team, I do hope that the world of journalism learned a lesson from the trial's outcome.
As a Florida native who has been exposed to coverage of the death of Caylee Anthony since she was considered a missing person, I get the frustration and anger that the general public feels about yesterday’s verdict. Nobody wants to believe that a mother could murder her own adorable daughter, but everybody was waiting to place blame somewhere so that the little girl could rest in peace and the country could move on. Plus, how could Casey not be blamed for it? The lies. The Google searches. The stench. The hot body contest. All of us maintained that our justice system would serve Casey Anthony right and that the truth of the circumstances surrounding Caylee’s disappearance and subsequent death would come to light. Yet, when it was announced that the jury did not have enough evidence to, beyond reasonable doubt, declare Casey Anthony guilty of first-degree murder, suddenly the justice system was worthless and those conventions that have prevented innocent men and women from being assumed guilty and sent to death row were considered matters of red tape that are letting a cold-blooded killer walk. And the media turbines keep spinning and spinning and suddenly we’re mesmerized. It has to stop. Now.
How about we all take a step back from our fixation with the Orlando Witch Trial and look at this with a little deductive reasoning? The jury unanimously found Casey Anthony not guilty of first degree murder. The general public and the media pretty clearly feel that Casey Anthony is guilty of first-degree murder. We all live-streamed the proceedings on CNN.com, so we heard all that the jury heard. We all read the paper every morning, so we saw the same evidence that the jury saw. So how is it possible that there is such a glaring difference in how the people and the jury feel? The fact is that there is only one differentiating factor between how the general public and the jury were exposed to the case: access to popular media.
I wouldn’t dare say that I didn’t indulge in the media banter surrounding Casey Anthony’s trial. I too read CNN religiously to catch up on the latest developments in the story and I loved listening to the insight provided by lawyers, forensic experts, etc. on The Today Show and HLN. Yet, for some reason, it appears as though I was the only one who did all of this without becoming an opinionated zombie. Maybe this is because I have been educated in journalism, specifically broadcast journalism, so I was aware of the inherent bias in story and guest selection. Or perhaps it’s because I’m the type of person who has an entire blog devoted to the need to consider all sides of a circumstance before passing judgment. Yet, regardless, the fact that I was practically standing alone in my expression of acceptance of the jury’s findings yesterday is terrifying to me. When did we get so closed minded? When did we get so self-righteous? Just because Nancy Grace thinks that she can make her own little court with brainwashed viewers as a phone-in jury and well-paid professionals with no connection to the case as expert witnesses doesn’t mean that we have to anoint ourselves as judges too. We are all subject to the same justice system that Casey Anthony was subject to and I can’t imagine that anyone else out there would like to leave their fate to a popular vote. The law is the law and our judicial procedures are sound. If you have a problem with the fact that a person cannot be convicted unless the jury determines their guilt beyond reasonable doubt and with suitable evidence, then protest our system as a whole or live elsewhere.
A side note: Something that makes me blush almost as much as the second-hand embarrassment I experienced while reading other people’s personal Twitter rants yesterday is the fact that we let this trial get as big as it did. Casey Anthony was not a star athlete who had already established her news-worthiness through her past accolades like OJ Simpson had. She was just another young mother who made some bad decisions, lied to authorities and perhaps murdered her daughter. According to the book Parenthood and Mental Health: A Bridge Between Infant and Adult Psychiatry by Sam Tyano, Miri Keren, Helen Herrman, John Cox, 61% of children under the age of five who were murdered between 1975-2000 were killed by one of their parents. Thus we cannot attribute the excessive media attention placed on Casey Anthony’s trial to the unique circumstance that a mother was accused of killing her child because the circumstance really was not all that unique. Looking back on the last few "It-Crimes" (Scott Petersen, Natalee Holloway, Chandra Levy, etc.) you have to wonder why only a few of these person-disappears-suspect-denies-it-big-trial-ensues situations have dominated cable news crime coverage in the past decade despite the absurd statistics about how often this actually happens in our country. But really there are only two ways to comprehend it; either we accept that we are all pre-disposed to Salem-Witch-Trial Syndrome or we go the sexier route and blame the news: Selection. Selection. Selection.
I know how important the media is to democracy and freedom. I cherish the access to information that we have as a result of the hard work of the hundreds of passionate, insightful and curious news reporters and producers out there. However, with the power the journalism industry has comes an even greater responsibility: to inform without bias in selection, content or exposure. Far too many members of the media came dangerously close to ignoring this responsibility during the Casey Anthony trial. And as much as it pains me to agree with anything said by the defense team, I do hope that the world of journalism learned a lesson from the trial's outcome.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Time to show a little self-respect...
I just came across this article on the Drudge Report and once again felt compelled to write: http://www.ktrh.com/cc-common/news/sections/newsarticle.html?feed=121300&article=8719378
A summary of the situation:
Earlier this week, the Senate Transportation and Homeland Security Committee heard testimony on the proposed Senate Bill 9, also known as the “Sanctuary Cities Bill”, which would allow local law enforcement to check a suspect’s immigration status. According to KTRH Radio in Houston, TX, during the hearing, a man named Antolin Aguirre testified against Senate Bill 9 on behalf of the Austin Immigrant Rights Coalition. At the beginning of his testimony, which was done completely in Spanish through an interpreter, Aguirre stated that he had resided in the United States since 1988. Yet, as he went on delivering his testimony, Senator Chris Harris (R-Texas) interrupted him:
“Did I understand him correctly that he has been here since 1988?" Harris asked. "Why aren’t you speaking in English then?"
Aguirre attempted to explain, in Spanish (big mistake), that this was the first hearing of this type that he had been a part of; he simply felt more comfortable speaking his native language while giving such important testimony. However, the damage had already been done.
I, for one, love to participate in mocking the assumed bigotry and inherent self-love of the typical Texan. In part this is because I have many great friends from Texas who are anything but bigots and thus I appreciate the irony of such a stereotype. Yet, for once, I am not seeing this statement by Senator Harris as an opportunity for humor. In fact, I see it as a pinch on the skin of those who support immigration, be they conservative, liberal or immigrants themselves. I personally feel as though every person should have the right to live wherever they want. However, in a nation as steadfast, enriching and (at least historically) wealthy as ours, I also feel there need to be boundaries. Not physical fences, George. But abstract limits to how far we are willing to go to enable people to employ their right to live wherever they wish without jeopardizing the security, efficiency and prosperity of our nation.
Think about it this way: Every student has an equal right to go to whatever university they want to. However, they have to work very hard in high school to get the grades to be eligible for the university. Then, they have to apply to the university and demonstrate their ability to be a contributing member of the campus community. Some don’t get accepted simply because they don’t have the drive, the passion, the curiosity and most importantly the capacity to be a contributing asset to the university. It’s not that the university doesn’t want the applicant to get an education. It’s not that they don’t want to see them blossom. It’s just that there are other applicants who, in their own way, have demonstrated that they will bring something to that university, be it funding, school spirit or intellectual innovation, that the rejected applicant is not capable of providing. The thing is though, the challenges for the accepted applicant don’t stop at admission. There is an expectation placed on the newly enrolled student that they will follow the code of conduct and honor code, participate in extra-curricular activities and meet the academic requirements to maintain their place at that school. Those who do not meet those expectations, who lie, cheat, steal or fail several classes, are asked to leave. Those who do meet the expectations are encouraged, educated and supported well beyond their years of enrollment at the university.
Conformity! You shout. Conformity and uniformity without distinction is what you claim! But no. To my knowledge, the United States does not have any accredited universities that insist that all students speak English at all hours of the day. Nor have I ever heard of a general university (as opposed to a religion-specific one) that tells students what religion they must believe in. Instead, there is an expectation that any student who enrolls at the university will be capable of communicating with their professors in the predominant language of that university. Following this wouldn’t be out of conformity. You don’t need to brainwash someone for them to understand that they can’t expect to perform well in a class or feel welcomed into a community when they cannot speak or comprehend the language that is being used. It would be out of respect for the professor and the university that have given them the opportunity to better themselves that they do what they can to immerse in and in turn contribute to and benefit from the opportunities that they themselves earned.
So what’s my point? The United States is nowhere near as selective as a university. In fact, we pride ourselves on our relatively open arms. However, isn’t it the hope of every American that our fellow citizens are committed to being an asset to our country? That all of us want to use our economic, intellectual, physical and cultural resources to better ourselves along with our standard of living and standing in the world? In addition, don’t we want to know that those people who are being welcomed into our country from abroad want to do that too? That they are ready to take on whatever challenges necessary to meet the expectations of our nation and contribute to it just as those people who were born here do? Well guess what. No offense to Antolin Aguirre, but he has been in the United States since before I was born. He moved here already knowing how to think and speak in a language that has many similarities to his native one. If I was capable of forming a solid enough fluency in the English language to write this blog entry in my 22 years on this planet, how was he not capable of learning enough English to speak to our government on behalf of his fellow immigrants in 23? Either he was living in complete isolation from American civilization or he was doing exactly what I feared. Reaping all that he could from our nation without fully immersing in it and thus defying the expectation that we have for all citizens of our country: to carry your weight.
I am no bigot. I am no racist. But I am someone who is passionate about our country, who wants to see it grow and expects my fellow Americans to work with me toward achieving greatness for our name. If Mr. Aguirre wants both himself and his fellow immigrants to be accepted into our country, both legally and socially, then they need to show a little respect. We’re the type of university that gives people a chance to prove themselves when they walk in the door on the first day. We’re the type of university that is flexible and willing to give people time to show how they can contribute to our community. But 23 years?
I don’t want to think that this particular exchange at the Senate hearing is indicative of anything other than one man’s inability (or unwillingness) to fully immerse in American culture and become at least conversational in our native language. Yet, that being said, I sincerely hope the Austin Immigrant Rights Coalition is looking to replace their designated spokesman.
A summary of the situation:
Earlier this week, the Senate Transportation and Homeland Security Committee heard testimony on the proposed Senate Bill 9, also known as the “Sanctuary Cities Bill”, which would allow local law enforcement to check a suspect’s immigration status. According to KTRH Radio in Houston, TX, during the hearing, a man named Antolin Aguirre testified against Senate Bill 9 on behalf of the Austin Immigrant Rights Coalition. At the beginning of his testimony, which was done completely in Spanish through an interpreter, Aguirre stated that he had resided in the United States since 1988. Yet, as he went on delivering his testimony, Senator Chris Harris (R-Texas) interrupted him:
“Did I understand him correctly that he has been here since 1988?" Harris asked. "Why aren’t you speaking in English then?"
Aguirre attempted to explain, in Spanish (big mistake), that this was the first hearing of this type that he had been a part of; he simply felt more comfortable speaking his native language while giving such important testimony. However, the damage had already been done.
I, for one, love to participate in mocking the assumed bigotry and inherent self-love of the typical Texan. In part this is because I have many great friends from Texas who are anything but bigots and thus I appreciate the irony of such a stereotype. Yet, for once, I am not seeing this statement by Senator Harris as an opportunity for humor. In fact, I see it as a pinch on the skin of those who support immigration, be they conservative, liberal or immigrants themselves. I personally feel as though every person should have the right to live wherever they want. However, in a nation as steadfast, enriching and (at least historically) wealthy as ours, I also feel there need to be boundaries. Not physical fences, George. But abstract limits to how far we are willing to go to enable people to employ their right to live wherever they wish without jeopardizing the security, efficiency and prosperity of our nation.
Think about it this way: Every student has an equal right to go to whatever university they want to. However, they have to work very hard in high school to get the grades to be eligible for the university. Then, they have to apply to the university and demonstrate their ability to be a contributing member of the campus community. Some don’t get accepted simply because they don’t have the drive, the passion, the curiosity and most importantly the capacity to be a contributing asset to the university. It’s not that the university doesn’t want the applicant to get an education. It’s not that they don’t want to see them blossom. It’s just that there are other applicants who, in their own way, have demonstrated that they will bring something to that university, be it funding, school spirit or intellectual innovation, that the rejected applicant is not capable of providing. The thing is though, the challenges for the accepted applicant don’t stop at admission. There is an expectation placed on the newly enrolled student that they will follow the code of conduct and honor code, participate in extra-curricular activities and meet the academic requirements to maintain their place at that school. Those who do not meet those expectations, who lie, cheat, steal or fail several classes, are asked to leave. Those who do meet the expectations are encouraged, educated and supported well beyond their years of enrollment at the university.
Conformity! You shout. Conformity and uniformity without distinction is what you claim! But no. To my knowledge, the United States does not have any accredited universities that insist that all students speak English at all hours of the day. Nor have I ever heard of a general university (as opposed to a religion-specific one) that tells students what religion they must believe in. Instead, there is an expectation that any student who enrolls at the university will be capable of communicating with their professors in the predominant language of that university. Following this wouldn’t be out of conformity. You don’t need to brainwash someone for them to understand that they can’t expect to perform well in a class or feel welcomed into a community when they cannot speak or comprehend the language that is being used. It would be out of respect for the professor and the university that have given them the opportunity to better themselves that they do what they can to immerse in and in turn contribute to and benefit from the opportunities that they themselves earned.
So what’s my point? The United States is nowhere near as selective as a university. In fact, we pride ourselves on our relatively open arms. However, isn’t it the hope of every American that our fellow citizens are committed to being an asset to our country? That all of us want to use our economic, intellectual, physical and cultural resources to better ourselves along with our standard of living and standing in the world? In addition, don’t we want to know that those people who are being welcomed into our country from abroad want to do that too? That they are ready to take on whatever challenges necessary to meet the expectations of our nation and contribute to it just as those people who were born here do? Well guess what. No offense to Antolin Aguirre, but he has been in the United States since before I was born. He moved here already knowing how to think and speak in a language that has many similarities to his native one. If I was capable of forming a solid enough fluency in the English language to write this blog entry in my 22 years on this planet, how was he not capable of learning enough English to speak to our government on behalf of his fellow immigrants in 23? Either he was living in complete isolation from American civilization or he was doing exactly what I feared. Reaping all that he could from our nation without fully immersing in it and thus defying the expectation that we have for all citizens of our country: to carry your weight.
I am no bigot. I am no racist. But I am someone who is passionate about our country, who wants to see it grow and expects my fellow Americans to work with me toward achieving greatness for our name. If Mr. Aguirre wants both himself and his fellow immigrants to be accepted into our country, both legally and socially, then they need to show a little respect. We’re the type of university that gives people a chance to prove themselves when they walk in the door on the first day. We’re the type of university that is flexible and willing to give people time to show how they can contribute to our community. But 23 years?
I don’t want to think that this particular exchange at the Senate hearing is indicative of anything other than one man’s inability (or unwillingness) to fully immerse in American culture and become at least conversational in our native language. Yet, that being said, I sincerely hope the Austin Immigrant Rights Coalition is looking to replace their designated spokesman.
Monday, May 2, 2011
A Cause For Thought
What an incredible 12 hours. Just before 10:00 p.m. EST on May 1, 2011, news broke that President Barack Obama would make an unplanned television address to the American people. After an hour and a half of media speculation and trickling tips from White House aides, Obama took to the podium and officially confirmed that American forces had in fact killed Osama bin Laden.
As could be seen in watching NBC News' and MSNBC's coverage of the aftermath of this announcement last night in the U.S., there were many individuals who were overcome with glee. People from all generations rose from their homes and made their way to Times Square, Ground Zero and the White House. Those who were at major hockey or baseball games heard the announcement of bin Laden's death over the loud speaker and began chants of "USA! USA!" without a second thought. Even members of the Wake Forest community found their way out of the library or dorm beds and rolled the quad in celebration. Yet, I have to admit, I myself was not hit with an overwhelming sense of joy at the news. Instead, I was forced into a trance-like two hours of intense thought with all that I had learned about terrorism and the Middle East throughout my Wake Forest Political Science career colliding head on with all that I had felt as a dramatic, overly romantic seventh grader on September 11, 2001.
The question I raise here is: how right was this move? Yes, Osama bin Laden was the mastermind behind al-Qaeda and the 9/11 attacks on American soil. Yes, he was a figurehead for jihadists worldwide. And yes, his ability to evade arrest or death by American hands for ten long years was reminiscent of Tantalus' inability to drink the water below him or eat the grapes above him for eternity. Yet, will the backlash be worth it? Will ending the life of a symbolic leader, crippled logistically by his isolation in Pakistan, bring an end to anything other than our manhunt? And if so, how should we feel?
I hope, as always, that the American people and those who approve of bin Laden's death are taking the time to look at every side of this. Brave, American special forces brought about the official demise of a mass murderer who did not discriminate in his victims. Yet, these forces also committed a military action that was not approved by Congress or shared with Pakistani officials beforehand. An instrumental man in jihadist strategy and global Islamic radicalization is dead. Yet, the realms of thought and action to which he was critical uplift those who die for causes and praise martyrs with the same obsessiveness as Western civilization praises Hollywood stars and athletes. A figurehead is dead, but his fellow leaders and foot soldiers are still alive with the same tools of destruction and skewed ideology just as available to them as it was this time yesterday, before bin Laden was killed. Perhaps the death of this man will extinguish the fire that has propelled Islamic extremism forth. Yet, it is just as possible that it will further feed this fire and further compel those who believe in jihadist ideology to take action against their enemies.
Only time will tell how the Osama bin Laden narrative will unfold in coming years. However, as is essential in all times of dramatic change in the global, political landscape, until one outcome prevails, all potential outcomes should be considered imminent.
As could be seen in watching NBC News' and MSNBC's coverage of the aftermath of this announcement last night in the U.S., there were many individuals who were overcome with glee. People from all generations rose from their homes and made their way to Times Square, Ground Zero and the White House. Those who were at major hockey or baseball games heard the announcement of bin Laden's death over the loud speaker and began chants of "USA! USA!" without a second thought. Even members of the Wake Forest community found their way out of the library or dorm beds and rolled the quad in celebration. Yet, I have to admit, I myself was not hit with an overwhelming sense of joy at the news. Instead, I was forced into a trance-like two hours of intense thought with all that I had learned about terrorism and the Middle East throughout my Wake Forest Political Science career colliding head on with all that I had felt as a dramatic, overly romantic seventh grader on September 11, 2001.
The question I raise here is: how right was this move? Yes, Osama bin Laden was the mastermind behind al-Qaeda and the 9/11 attacks on American soil. Yes, he was a figurehead for jihadists worldwide. And yes, his ability to evade arrest or death by American hands for ten long years was reminiscent of Tantalus' inability to drink the water below him or eat the grapes above him for eternity. Yet, will the backlash be worth it? Will ending the life of a symbolic leader, crippled logistically by his isolation in Pakistan, bring an end to anything other than our manhunt? And if so, how should we feel?
I hope, as always, that the American people and those who approve of bin Laden's death are taking the time to look at every side of this. Brave, American special forces brought about the official demise of a mass murderer who did not discriminate in his victims. Yet, these forces also committed a military action that was not approved by Congress or shared with Pakistani officials beforehand. An instrumental man in jihadist strategy and global Islamic radicalization is dead. Yet, the realms of thought and action to which he was critical uplift those who die for causes and praise martyrs with the same obsessiveness as Western civilization praises Hollywood stars and athletes. A figurehead is dead, but his fellow leaders and foot soldiers are still alive with the same tools of destruction and skewed ideology just as available to them as it was this time yesterday, before bin Laden was killed. Perhaps the death of this man will extinguish the fire that has propelled Islamic extremism forth. Yet, it is just as possible that it will further feed this fire and further compel those who believe in jihadist ideology to take action against their enemies.
Only time will tell how the Osama bin Laden narrative will unfold in coming years. However, as is essential in all times of dramatic change in the global, political landscape, until one outcome prevails, all potential outcomes should be considered imminent.
Friday, March 18, 2011
A Quick Note on the Duality of Sport
I wish I had more time to discuss this, but alas, dinner calls.
I remember in my early high school years when I read the book, My Name is Asher Lev. Much of the symbolism in the novel referred to the duality that is natural to all of life's quandaries and beauties alike. The author stressed a balance, a subtle and indescribable harmony among all things good and evil, false and true, that is evident in all aspects of life. This same theme also appeared in The Invisible Man. The author of this novel also insisted that without darkness there is no light. The existence of one permits that of the other. And then there is my favorite proclamation of duality from The Grapes of Wrath. It is astonishing to me that I remember anything from that book given its length. However, I will never forget that without pain, there is no progress. You cannot have one without the other. They are opposites and yet they are mutually dependent on each other. I do believe that this same duality, this same need for pleasure and agony, good and evil, right and wrong, respectable and despicable, is evident in sports.
At another time, I will explain this theory further and with more examples. Yet, I had to post immediately after seeing the news that Ichiro Suzuki of the Seattle Mariners had reportedly donated over $1 million to the Japan earthquake relief effort. With all of the controversy about alcohol, drugs, abuse and overblown pay checks in baseball, there are the players who will give as much as they can to a cause that hits close to home. There are coaches who will give a kidney to a player in need. There are major league squads that will do what they can for a college team affected by a devastating hurricane. And this is just in baseball.
I hate to romanticize the past, but it's difficult not to when all you know about the history of baseball came from the words of David Halberstam. I would do anything to flush out the headlines and dilute the hype when it comes to how sports breed dishonesty and athletes are bad role models and so on and so forth. I would do anything to go back to the words of Halberstam, which cast a magical spell on even the slightest of details of sport. My ability to write and know sports will forever pale in comparison to that of David Halberstam. Yet, I do believe that if he were around today, he too would feel the need to look more closely at the duality of sport. He too would start and end the story with the positive and address the negative for the sheer sake of acknowledging that it does exist. He too saw that without the darkness, there would be no light. And if there were only light in the world and in sport, it would not be light at all.
I remember in my early high school years when I read the book, My Name is Asher Lev. Much of the symbolism in the novel referred to the duality that is natural to all of life's quandaries and beauties alike. The author stressed a balance, a subtle and indescribable harmony among all things good and evil, false and true, that is evident in all aspects of life. This same theme also appeared in The Invisible Man. The author of this novel also insisted that without darkness there is no light. The existence of one permits that of the other. And then there is my favorite proclamation of duality from The Grapes of Wrath. It is astonishing to me that I remember anything from that book given its length. However, I will never forget that without pain, there is no progress. You cannot have one without the other. They are opposites and yet they are mutually dependent on each other. I do believe that this same duality, this same need for pleasure and agony, good and evil, right and wrong, respectable and despicable, is evident in sports.
At another time, I will explain this theory further and with more examples. Yet, I had to post immediately after seeing the news that Ichiro Suzuki of the Seattle Mariners had reportedly donated over $1 million to the Japan earthquake relief effort. With all of the controversy about alcohol, drugs, abuse and overblown pay checks in baseball, there are the players who will give as much as they can to a cause that hits close to home. There are coaches who will give a kidney to a player in need. There are major league squads that will do what they can for a college team affected by a devastating hurricane. And this is just in baseball.
I hate to romanticize the past, but it's difficult not to when all you know about the history of baseball came from the words of David Halberstam. I would do anything to flush out the headlines and dilute the hype when it comes to how sports breed dishonesty and athletes are bad role models and so on and so forth. I would do anything to go back to the words of Halberstam, which cast a magical spell on even the slightest of details of sport. My ability to write and know sports will forever pale in comparison to that of David Halberstam. Yet, I do believe that if he were around today, he too would feel the need to look more closely at the duality of sport. He too would start and end the story with the positive and address the negative for the sheer sake of acknowledging that it does exist. He too saw that without the darkness, there would be no light. And if there were only light in the world and in sport, it would not be light at all.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Jews Are Not Atheists
This is a rant about an act that I witnessed last night that epitomized one of the greatest diseases that infects contemporary society (en mon avis).
I was at a dinner conference on the topic of honor and community last night. It was sponsored by my university and all student leaders along with several faculty members and staff were invited to attend. It included a dinner, a motivational speech and a post-speech table discussion.
Before the meal portion of the event commenced, the University Chaplain was invited to say a prayer and bless the food. The portly gentleman made his way to the podium and gave a delightful, but slightly too long prayer that sounded more like the introduction to the motivational speech that was to come than anything else. Rarely did he mention God, never did he mention Jesus. When he mentioned Christianity, it was in the same sentence as Judaism and Islam. When he mentioned Church, it was mixed in with the words 'temple' and 'mosque'. It was as agnostic as a wholesome prayer could get. And as an agnostic myself, I was intrigued and enlightened by his words, not offended or even a bit discomforted.
However, throughout the entire prayer, a fellow female student who was sitting next to me was boiling with outrage. She couldn't believe that there was a prayer! She couldn't believe that a university chaplain had the audacity to engage in an act that was even remotely associated with religion at a non-religious event! It was AWKWARD, she exclaimed. So awkward that she decided to look around with a disgusting little grin on her face and scoff at those bowing their heads in player or respect, as I was. She then whipped out her cell phone and started texting in the middle of the prayer. The icing on the cake, my friends. I guess I could say I was alarmed.
After the prayer, the student tried to make her case about how it was inappropriate for them to pray at such an event. But I just looked at her with crooked eye brows and said, "I don't know. I'm an agnostic and it didn't bother me." I then removed myself from the premises because I feared I might slap her out of frustration. Later on in conversation at the table, I found out that this young woman was not even atheist. She's Jewish!
So, last night as I lay awake I asked myself: Is she an atheist disguised as a Jew? Unlikely given that she later self-identified as a Jew. Did this girl not listen to the chaplain's introduction to his prayer? Or to the prayer itself, both of which acknowledged with respect all religions and the importance of prayer in all of their practices? Clearly not. Because had she listened, she would have realized that the prayer stuck to the Old Testament just as it fit with the new one. But no. Instead, the second that something remotely religious was mentioned by someone who happened to identify personally with a religion other than her own, the student put on her earmuffs and turned on the ignorance.
As a relatively educated individual, I have found that one of the greatest causes of discontent, anger and even war throughout history has been an unwillingness to listen to and respect others despite their differences. Far too often individuals and groups fall into the trap of jumping to conclusions about situations and conversations based on pre-conceived notions of what they might be or mean. Especially when it comes to religion, it seems as though everyone thinks everyone is trying to indoctrinate everyone else.
Ever since I realized that I didn't personally fall into a defined category of religion, I have become hyper-aware of situations like this. Not because I fear indoctrination, but am interested in the way people speak of their religions. I respect other people's beliefs and am intrigued by the way they view them, practice them and, yes, even share them. And I don't say this as a forgiving Catholic or a victimized Jew. I say it as a human being, a citizen of the world, a member of mankind. Because at the end of the day we are people. We are all just trying to make our way in the world. And if we could take a step back and listen instead of avoid, appreciate instead of scoff at, or in the least just take a step back and keep our mouths shut out of respect for others, I truly think this world would be a much more peaceful place.
I was at a dinner conference on the topic of honor and community last night. It was sponsored by my university and all student leaders along with several faculty members and staff were invited to attend. It included a dinner, a motivational speech and a post-speech table discussion.
Before the meal portion of the event commenced, the University Chaplain was invited to say a prayer and bless the food. The portly gentleman made his way to the podium and gave a delightful, but slightly too long prayer that sounded more like the introduction to the motivational speech that was to come than anything else. Rarely did he mention God, never did he mention Jesus. When he mentioned Christianity, it was in the same sentence as Judaism and Islam. When he mentioned Church, it was mixed in with the words 'temple' and 'mosque'. It was as agnostic as a wholesome prayer could get. And as an agnostic myself, I was intrigued and enlightened by his words, not offended or even a bit discomforted.
However, throughout the entire prayer, a fellow female student who was sitting next to me was boiling with outrage. She couldn't believe that there was a prayer! She couldn't believe that a university chaplain had the audacity to engage in an act that was even remotely associated with religion at a non-religious event! It was AWKWARD, she exclaimed. So awkward that she decided to look around with a disgusting little grin on her face and scoff at those bowing their heads in player or respect, as I was. She then whipped out her cell phone and started texting in the middle of the prayer. The icing on the cake, my friends. I guess I could say I was alarmed.
After the prayer, the student tried to make her case about how it was inappropriate for them to pray at such an event. But I just looked at her with crooked eye brows and said, "I don't know. I'm an agnostic and it didn't bother me." I then removed myself from the premises because I feared I might slap her out of frustration. Later on in conversation at the table, I found out that this young woman was not even atheist. She's Jewish!
So, last night as I lay awake I asked myself: Is she an atheist disguised as a Jew? Unlikely given that she later self-identified as a Jew. Did this girl not listen to the chaplain's introduction to his prayer? Or to the prayer itself, both of which acknowledged with respect all religions and the importance of prayer in all of their practices? Clearly not. Because had she listened, she would have realized that the prayer stuck to the Old Testament just as it fit with the new one. But no. Instead, the second that something remotely religious was mentioned by someone who happened to identify personally with a religion other than her own, the student put on her earmuffs and turned on the ignorance.
As a relatively educated individual, I have found that one of the greatest causes of discontent, anger and even war throughout history has been an unwillingness to listen to and respect others despite their differences. Far too often individuals and groups fall into the trap of jumping to conclusions about situations and conversations based on pre-conceived notions of what they might be or mean. Especially when it comes to religion, it seems as though everyone thinks everyone is trying to indoctrinate everyone else.
Ever since I realized that I didn't personally fall into a defined category of religion, I have become hyper-aware of situations like this. Not because I fear indoctrination, but am interested in the way people speak of their religions. I respect other people's beliefs and am intrigued by the way they view them, practice them and, yes, even share them. And I don't say this as a forgiving Catholic or a victimized Jew. I say it as a human being, a citizen of the world, a member of mankind. Because at the end of the day we are people. We are all just trying to make our way in the world. And if we could take a step back and listen instead of avoid, appreciate instead of scoff at, or in the least just take a step back and keep our mouths shut out of respect for others, I truly think this world would be a much more peaceful place.
Sunday, January 9, 2011
My First Verse: Reflecting on the Shooting in Tuscon
Vitriole. It is a noun defined as cruel and bitter criticism. It is a word that was rarely used by the media before an allegedly mentally disturbed young man fired fatal shots at a "Congress on your Corner" event in Tuscon, Arizona. However, now that the alarms have sounded to the tune of gun shots and people have died as a result, the word sounds much more familiar than initially anticipated. Identifying the underlying tone of anger and volatility that has sprouted beneath present-day political rhetoric as vitriole is merely a diagnosis. It is putting a name to a sentiment that hyper-conscious, educated Americans started to feel years, if not decades ago.
It should not be forgotten that vitriole is also a word for sulfuric acid. It is a chemical that industrialized societies heavily rely on, but one that is known for how vicious and corrosive it can be when mixed with the wrong thing. And just as the media is identifying the bitter rhetoric utilized by extremists from the left and the right, most specifically in the Tea Party and other right-winged movements, we are seeing the result of allowing the chemical of uninformed disdain spread through the veins of our national conversation.
Debate, protest, freedom of speech and anger are all essential to the preservation of a true democracy. However, what about compromise at the end of the debate? What about peace in the protest? What about judiciousness and moderation in freedom of speech? And where is the pride, the unity, the patriotism that is supposed to trump the anger?
As grateful as we are for our aging democracy and as beneficial as the growth of technology and the media have been for mankind, it is difficult to look at the world we live in now and not question if we are the nation that we want to be. Do we want to live in such paranoia that we allow for the government to encroach on those very freedoms that these random acts of violence supposedly seek to advocate? No. Do we want to feel as though compromise is a thing of the past and that the only realms of thought worth entertaining are the extremities? No. Do we want to encourage the use of violence against public servants and each other when communicating, voting, and collaborating has proven to be rather productive in the past? I doubt it.
Our democracy has spun out of control into a clusterfuck of fear, complacency and misinformation. We are living in a state of emergency with packages flaring up at mayors' mansions and bullets penetrating the brains of our public servants. And we are the ones to blame. Each and every individual, on the right, the left or in the middle, is to blame. We tune into the biased news channels, we read the inflammatory blogs, we give the extremist groups air time and allow their spinned perspectives of reality to camouflage itself among what is actually real. We are a classic case of Kitty Genovese syndrome. We are all bystanders, failing to call foul as lady liberty, our mother America, is drowned in acidic rhetoric.
As with every tragedy that our nation faces, I sincerely hope that the incident in Tuscon is viewed as an opportunity to change. It may be too late for the victims. But I truly believe that it is not too late for the rest of us.
It should not be forgotten that vitriole is also a word for sulfuric acid. It is a chemical that industrialized societies heavily rely on, but one that is known for how vicious and corrosive it can be when mixed with the wrong thing. And just as the media is identifying the bitter rhetoric utilized by extremists from the left and the right, most specifically in the Tea Party and other right-winged movements, we are seeing the result of allowing the chemical of uninformed disdain spread through the veins of our national conversation.
Debate, protest, freedom of speech and anger are all essential to the preservation of a true democracy. However, what about compromise at the end of the debate? What about peace in the protest? What about judiciousness and moderation in freedom of speech? And where is the pride, the unity, the patriotism that is supposed to trump the anger?
As grateful as we are for our aging democracy and as beneficial as the growth of technology and the media have been for mankind, it is difficult to look at the world we live in now and not question if we are the nation that we want to be. Do we want to live in such paranoia that we allow for the government to encroach on those very freedoms that these random acts of violence supposedly seek to advocate? No. Do we want to feel as though compromise is a thing of the past and that the only realms of thought worth entertaining are the extremities? No. Do we want to encourage the use of violence against public servants and each other when communicating, voting, and collaborating has proven to be rather productive in the past? I doubt it.
Our democracy has spun out of control into a clusterfuck of fear, complacency and misinformation. We are living in a state of emergency with packages flaring up at mayors' mansions and bullets penetrating the brains of our public servants. And we are the ones to blame. Each and every individual, on the right, the left or in the middle, is to blame. We tune into the biased news channels, we read the inflammatory blogs, we give the extremist groups air time and allow their spinned perspectives of reality to camouflage itself among what is actually real. We are a classic case of Kitty Genovese syndrome. We are all bystanders, failing to call foul as lady liberty, our mother America, is drowned in acidic rhetoric.
As with every tragedy that our nation faces, I sincerely hope that the incident in Tuscon is viewed as an opportunity to change. It may be too late for the victims. But I truly believe that it is not too late for the rest of us.
A New Year, A New Blog
In an effort to improve my ability and style as a writer, I have decided to make some changes to my blog for the new year. I started blogging in the summer of 2009 in order to document my first summer internship in the public relations department with the New York Knicks. I continued keeping my blog while studying abroad in London, once I returned to the states and throughout two more internships, with Turner Sports and Wake Forest's Athletic Department. However, as my last semester at Wake Forest University approaches, I want to take a step back from the ordered blog posts and transform this space into something that better reflects who I am.
I am a consumer of culture. I am addicted to current events. I am an information junkie, an opinionated outsider, a young person overflowing with passion for the moderate and disdain for the temperate. Through this blog, I plan to share my logical, politically independent and genuinely curious approach to modern-day happenings. That's why I named it "The Choir". My goal is to speak for the middle, to preach for the choir and to define the gray area of moderation and compromise that contemporary society has to refused to admit exists.
I am a consumer of culture. I am addicted to current events. I am an information junkie, an opinionated outsider, a young person overflowing with passion for the moderate and disdain for the temperate. Through this blog, I plan to share my logical, politically independent and genuinely curious approach to modern-day happenings. That's why I named it "The Choir". My goal is to speak for the middle, to preach for the choir and to define the gray area of moderation and compromise that contemporary society has to refused to admit exists.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
