Be set free to sing or hum along

No. 14 | I had a moment yesterday evening that, looking back on it now, I feel as though I experienced from multiple vantage points. From one vantage point, I was just experiencing a simple conversation occurring in time. There was an awkwardness to the conversation that was there because I had brought it. There was another vantage point wherein I was looking on, watching what was taking place, and asking good questions. Why was I feeling the emotions that I was feeling? Did I believe the answers that I was giving to the questions asked of me? Is this who I want to be? As those questions arose, something within me said, “This moment matters. There is something here that you need to work out.” For quite some time after what for most involved was just a passing conversation, I have continued to poke and prod my heart with some helpful questions. 

Between that moment and this, I have done a fair amount of soul searching. And while I am sure I still have much of that left to do, I do see some things that I have needed to see.  

Fundamentally, the conversation was about art. In this case, it concerned music specifically. But at base, the question I afterward found myself wrestling with was this: What is the value of art? 

In May of 2015, Picasso’s Les femmes d’Alger (Version ‘O’) sold at auction for $179.4 million. Picasso may not be the best example as he acquired considerable wealth from his art. Van Gogh’s The Starry Night is valued at over $100 million, and he sold only one painting in his lifetime. So what is the value of unmonetized art? What is the value of the lullaby you make up and sing to your child as you rock her to sleep?  

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No. 13 | I awoke this morning thinking about ostriches. Do they really bury their heads in the sand when confronted with some other threatening, hungry beast that wishes to have them for supper? A quick web search says that they do not. You can read some about it if you are curious like me.

I have a good friend and co-worker who has on occasion said, “Some people are content to sit in their own filth.” I am sure he has phrased this a few different ways. He paints a picture worth considering.

Just the other day I listened to a story told by a holiday fisherman. This fellow and his family had traveled down to the coast and gone out on a charter fishing boat. Upon their return with coolers full of fish, a crew at the dock cleaned and fileted all the fish for them. The teller of the story described the sights and smells of the dock as something unpleasant to the sight and olfactory senses.

The storyteller asks the young man cleaning and prepping his fish, “Do you ever get tired of the smells around here?” The young man looks back and asks, “What smells?”

Now to be clear, this young man was working hard doing a legitimate job with real value. This young man may have had his eyes set on being a future boat captain. He may have had his eyes set on being captain of a hundred boats. I hope so and wish him only and all of the very best.

But that picture, “What smell?” Surely each of us at some time and in some way has “sat in our own filth”. Problems are hard enough to face and overcome when we see them. They can be downright disheartening and leave us feeling that we are absolutely powerless. We are not though, powerless.

If that is the story with the problems that we see, the problems that to us go unseen are a whole other matter. We may see them because we may not see them. We may see them and falsely and to our own detriment convince ourselves they are not so looming or important in the end. We may see them and simply choose the easiest path of all, the fabled ostrich path. The river in Egypt path.

Over the years, I have had good friends, concerned co-workers, caring family members, and loved ones bring to my attention some of my own problems that I either was not taking seriously enough or altogether did not see. Where would I be had these not risked telling me the truth that I either did not see or was not taking seriously enough? I am sure there are many more that are yet to come to light. It is a hard thing to tell someone you deeply care about a truth that stings. It can be a very hard thing to hear it. We need each other that way. We need to love each other and hold each other up in the midst of the difficult things we must face. We need to encourage one another that things can get better.

No. 12 | A few posts back I was warning against the negative and self-submarining habit of “If only…”. 

An excerpt: One thought habit that has been very helpful and has become a trusted standby for me is to propose to myself a “what if” question. Even better, a series of such questions.  A more complete description, “What if, instead of forever wallowing in ‘if only’, I…insert new habit here?” 

I cannot recall with exact certainty when I first took up my “What if…?” habit.  I very much recall the experience that spurred my giving the thought question as well as the self-advised follow-up actions the question worked to unearth an honest test run. 

Little miracle number one and I were quite involved with Boy Scouting.  On a gray, chilly morning as we were breaking camp, I was standing near the community camp kitchen drinking my first cup of morning coffee. I looked out to see one young scout regularly thumping another with a sleeping pad.  The scene really bothered me.  To describe it rightly, nobody was yet getting hurt physically.  But that sort of thing does not sit well with me.  Everything in me wanted to intervene.  I learned through my experiences in scouting that sometimes we need to let things go.  Let them play out.  Let people learn lessons that reality will teach.  Lessons learned in the real world of choice and consequence consistently bear more fruit than lessons we think we give with our interventions. I am still striving to embody this better than I do.  

As I was considering just how I was going to intervene and resolve the situation, one of the other adult leaders said, “This is going to be alright.”  For the sake of the story here, I will call the boys Billy and Johnny.  At this point, Johnny is, every so often, whacking Billy with this rolled-up sleeping pad.  It is easily observable that Billy does not like this. 

Continue reading “What If”