I had a great time talking with Dieter again, and hope it's as much fun to listen to as it was to record.
Showing posts with label podcasting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label podcasting. Show all posts
Friday, July 03, 2009
Ubermondo Interview
So, remember my awesome conversation a few days ago with an old friend? It's now available online at his podcast:
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Griddlecakes Radio
Just in case you aren't a Griddlecakes Radio subscriber (and why aren't you, I might ask? Hmmmmmm...), I'm in a bit over there. Griddlesode 20: Business Babble. Check it out, and tell Ron I sent you.
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Reality, the Musical
I'm sitting here watching Scrubs as I write this which, while it's not one of my usual shows, is one that I enjoy a good bit when I do get a chance to watch. My warped sense of humor as well as my extremely visual sense of ... well, of everything, makes me a good fit for shows that so flawlessly blend nonsense, keen wit, good writing, sharp delivery, and slapstick to make both entertainment and a point. Currently on my television screen, the creepy janitor is dangling half naked outside a window suspended by the speedo that he's wearing, but the episode that came on just before this one actually touched on the issues of religion, honesty in relationships, parenthood, and childhood trauma. And it was funny! And not really in a sick and evil sort of way, as I really don't appreciate, get, or enjoy genuinely mean humor, but in a intelligent silliness sort of way. It's amazing that because the show engaged me in a less threatening way, through use of effective theatrical diversions, I was more relaxed, and therefore more easily receptive to the more serious messages the show had to offer.
Earlier today, I posted my most recent podcast, which was an interview with the author of Love Jerry-- the so-called "pedophile musical" I heard about just last week. The interview, while obviously about a heavy subject, was a wonderful experience for me and in the end of the interview, Megan thanked me for approaching her work with an open mind and said how refreshing it was to be able to actually talk about the play without having to constantly defend it. It's so important to me that each person who is a guest on my podcast look at is as having been a positive experience, and being 6 for 6 in that regard feels good.
Megan is heartfelt, friendly, thoughtful, intelligent, and clearly committed to being a part of the solution to end child sexual abuse, in whatever ways she can. People have made issues of three key facts about the play that could potentially be objectionable: 1) It's a musical, and quite a few people find that inappropriate; 2) Jerry is not demonized in the play, and rather than being presented as the manifestation of pure evil is offered up as a very flawed human whose horrible choices devastate his family's life as well as his own; and 3) A handful of people have proclaimed that child sexual abuse is not an appropriate topic for public entertainment.
Which brings up quite a few other elements, to my view. For starters, Megan made clear that this is not a musical in the style of Oklahoma or Li'l Abner. This is a play in which acoustic, natural, folk-style music is used as a way for the characters to express heartfelt emotions and truths that might not come out in any other way. That kind of music not only expresses a kind of emotion and sincerity that is difficult to express in any other way, but it provides a less threatening context into which to place an otherwise unsettling exploration of a terrifying social plague. It, in some ways, makes an intimate exploration of such an intense issue a little more palatable in the end.
Megan conducted a good bit of research on and interviews with actual sexual offenders and child molesters as part of her preparation for this play. One of the things that struck her was how human they seemed-- these were not creepy and sinister characters barren of emotion, living in solitude under the social radar, without family and community connections. Instead, they were people with families, dreams, feelings, fears, and worries-- people who would not stand out in a crowd as people to avoid. See, as long as we, as a society, continue to expect those who abuse our children to be dark and looming characters, we will miss out on the true threat to our children. Most sexual abuse is not by openly disturbed or threatening people. It's almost always someone the child knows-- a family member, trusted adult, or teacher. The real threat to our children isn't secretive and lurking people, as much as it is secretive and lurking ideas in our society regarding how we address sexual abuse when it does happen.
Which brings me to the question of what is or isn't an appropriate topic to address through theater. See, I am a big fan of the arts as a personal diversion, as well as of the arts as a way of working to effect dramatic cultural change. I grew up in the theater, performing on stage as a singer, dancer, actor, and musician. I understand how the experience of an artistic project, both as a participant and as a spectator, can change your heart and open your mind to new possibilities. Addressing sexual abuse as an issue, and only an theoretical and intellectual issue, it is far too easy to remove the issue from its' context, to throw away the humanity of the abuser as we address criminal acts, and to assault the epidemic with platitudes, narrow-minded (albeit well-intentioned) anger, and a completely useless rage against what is clearly an injustice. This does nobody any good, least of all the person who was abused, or whose child was abused, for whom platitudes are meaningless and the offender is often more human than their heart would have ever preferred. It's far too easy for people to theorize about what is or isn't an appropriate forum to discuss child sexual abuse when their own lives have never been touched, either through their own experiences or those of someone they love, by the personal and emotional devastation that child abuse leaves in its' wake. Those who have been through it are less likely to be interested in arguments about where and when sexual abuse should be discussed... they just want to see the discussion happening.
Megan brought up a particularly powerful point during our conversation-- a point that has replayed itself on the spectacular backdrop of my far-too-intense imagination over the last few days. We repress this, refuse to discuss it, and expect people to heal from their sexual-abuse-inflicted wounds quietly and without great fanfare precisely because it is a topic we're scared of. We can't define it in terms of genetics, microbiology, or a cure, so we are scared to stand face to face with what we can't control. If this were polio, or bird flu, or any other definable illness that was affecting one out of three girls and one out of six boys in this country, it would be on the cover of the papers every single day until we had found a solution. Sadly, I think our head-in-the-sand stupidity with regard to sexual abuse goes even deeper than that, as erectile dysfunction and frickin' male pattern baldness often get more play in the press than the violation of our children. (Of course, we plaster sexually abused children all over the media when they are killed by their abusers, which makes it easier to demonize the abuser, but what about the thousands of others who live daily with their scars? But, alas, that's another blogpost for another day.) Where are our priorities, people? Why is it that when someone makes an honest effort to address a societal epidemic, we tear her apart, assuming it's a perversion of reality, when it is sadly, horrifyingly, and inexcusably likely to be one of the most honest and genuine looks at sexual abuse to date? Sad, horrifying, and inexcusable not because she addressed this issue in the format of a musical that does not make the bad guy a monster, but sad, horrifying, and inexcusable because WE as a society have, in some way, allowed it to become (and continue to allow it to be) the epidemic that it is, through our own silence and unwillingness to be gently led out of our comfort zones.
Earlier today, I did a google search to find any press or blog coverage about Love Jerry. What I found was, in most cases, a collection of the most ridiculous, misguided, misinformed, irrational, knee-jerk reactions I've ever seen in regard to a topic. Bloggers, it's just a little too easy to fire off at the mouth, or the keyboard, as the case may be, without having ANY IDEA what we're talking about. Why do we do that? I'll admit, when I first heard about this play, my first reaction was that it must necessarily be an atrocity. But the first sentence I fired off about it wasn't in a blog post; it was in an email to the author of the play, to find out from the delightfully open and sincere horse's mouth what the real deal was. Do a technorati search, or some other blog search, on "Love Jerry" or "pedophile musical." I dare you. And then prepare to cringe, as you read what would be a ridiculously funny series of idiotic tirades by people who don't know anything about it, except for the fact that real ignorance is rarely ever funny. Pull your heads out of the sand of your self-presumed righteousness, and face the facts that we REALLY need to have open and honest discussions about what is happening to our children if we are ever to have any hope of truly protecting them. And please, if you have no idea what it is like to be a survivor of sexual abuse, a parent, or a friend of one, listen in intently on the discussion, contributing only when you feel you have something to say that brings a greater truth to light for the benefit of our society. Don't pretend to speak for the little people; chances are you aren't really speaking for them in the first place. And most of the adult survivors can speak for themselves quite nicely, thank you.
In other news, south clearly trumps north, according to googlefight. So there.
Also, listenership is up, thank you very much to the nice podcasters out there sharing about what I'm doing! And as exciting as the growing stats (particularly 1st day posting stats) are to me, they are not the true indicator of whether or not I have arrived as a podcaster-- I got my first piece of slightly inappropriate email feedback over the weekend. SCORE! From a guy. Who liked my accent. (What is UP with you Great Lakes states freaks? Seriously!) Truthfully, though, it made me smile on an otherwise boring day, so whatever. Also, today I noticed that I had my first review on iTunes-- 5 stars and a nice comment. Unfortunately, the review was written by my dad, and referenced my "sultry, southern drawl."
*crickets*
Thankyouverymuch.
I think I'm going to shove a bottle brush in one ear and out the other and scrub hard until that reference has been completely and totally erased from my brain.
Earlier today, I posted my most recent podcast, which was an interview with the author of Love Jerry-- the so-called "pedophile musical" I heard about just last week. The interview, while obviously about a heavy subject, was a wonderful experience for me and in the end of the interview, Megan thanked me for approaching her work with an open mind and said how refreshing it was to be able to actually talk about the play without having to constantly defend it. It's so important to me that each person who is a guest on my podcast look at is as having been a positive experience, and being 6 for 6 in that regard feels good.
Megan is heartfelt, friendly, thoughtful, intelligent, and clearly committed to being a part of the solution to end child sexual abuse, in whatever ways she can. People have made issues of three key facts about the play that could potentially be objectionable: 1) It's a musical, and quite a few people find that inappropriate; 2) Jerry is not demonized in the play, and rather than being presented as the manifestation of pure evil is offered up as a very flawed human whose horrible choices devastate his family's life as well as his own; and 3) A handful of people have proclaimed that child sexual abuse is not an appropriate topic for public entertainment.
Which brings up quite a few other elements, to my view. For starters, Megan made clear that this is not a musical in the style of Oklahoma or Li'l Abner. This is a play in which acoustic, natural, folk-style music is used as a way for the characters to express heartfelt emotions and truths that might not come out in any other way. That kind of music not only expresses a kind of emotion and sincerity that is difficult to express in any other way, but it provides a less threatening context into which to place an otherwise unsettling exploration of a terrifying social plague. It, in some ways, makes an intimate exploration of such an intense issue a little more palatable in the end.
Megan conducted a good bit of research on and interviews with actual sexual offenders and child molesters as part of her preparation for this play. One of the things that struck her was how human they seemed-- these were not creepy and sinister characters barren of emotion, living in solitude under the social radar, without family and community connections. Instead, they were people with families, dreams, feelings, fears, and worries-- people who would not stand out in a crowd as people to avoid. See, as long as we, as a society, continue to expect those who abuse our children to be dark and looming characters, we will miss out on the true threat to our children. Most sexual abuse is not by openly disturbed or threatening people. It's almost always someone the child knows-- a family member, trusted adult, or teacher. The real threat to our children isn't secretive and lurking people, as much as it is secretive and lurking ideas in our society regarding how we address sexual abuse when it does happen.
Which brings me to the question of what is or isn't an appropriate topic to address through theater. See, I am a big fan of the arts as a personal diversion, as well as of the arts as a way of working to effect dramatic cultural change. I grew up in the theater, performing on stage as a singer, dancer, actor, and musician. I understand how the experience of an artistic project, both as a participant and as a spectator, can change your heart and open your mind to new possibilities. Addressing sexual abuse as an issue, and only an theoretical and intellectual issue, it is far too easy to remove the issue from its' context, to throw away the humanity of the abuser as we address criminal acts, and to assault the epidemic with platitudes, narrow-minded (albeit well-intentioned) anger, and a completely useless rage against what is clearly an injustice. This does nobody any good, least of all the person who was abused, or whose child was abused, for whom platitudes are meaningless and the offender is often more human than their heart would have ever preferred. It's far too easy for people to theorize about what is or isn't an appropriate forum to discuss child sexual abuse when their own lives have never been touched, either through their own experiences or those of someone they love, by the personal and emotional devastation that child abuse leaves in its' wake. Those who have been through it are less likely to be interested in arguments about where and when sexual abuse should be discussed... they just want to see the discussion happening.
Megan brought up a particularly powerful point during our conversation-- a point that has replayed itself on the spectacular backdrop of my far-too-intense imagination over the last few days. We repress this, refuse to discuss it, and expect people to heal from their sexual-abuse-inflicted wounds quietly and without great fanfare precisely because it is a topic we're scared of. We can't define it in terms of genetics, microbiology, or a cure, so we are scared to stand face to face with what we can't control. If this were polio, or bird flu, or any other definable illness that was affecting one out of three girls and one out of six boys in this country, it would be on the cover of the papers every single day until we had found a solution. Sadly, I think our head-in-the-sand stupidity with regard to sexual abuse goes even deeper than that, as erectile dysfunction and frickin' male pattern baldness often get more play in the press than the violation of our children. (Of course, we plaster sexually abused children all over the media when they are killed by their abusers, which makes it easier to demonize the abuser, but what about the thousands of others who live daily with their scars? But, alas, that's another blogpost for another day.) Where are our priorities, people? Why is it that when someone makes an honest effort to address a societal epidemic, we tear her apart, assuming it's a perversion of reality, when it is sadly, horrifyingly, and inexcusably likely to be one of the most honest and genuine looks at sexual abuse to date? Sad, horrifying, and inexcusable not because she addressed this issue in the format of a musical that does not make the bad guy a monster, but sad, horrifying, and inexcusable because WE as a society have, in some way, allowed it to become (and continue to allow it to be) the epidemic that it is, through our own silence and unwillingness to be gently led out of our comfort zones.
Earlier today, I did a google search to find any press or blog coverage about Love Jerry. What I found was, in most cases, a collection of the most ridiculous, misguided, misinformed, irrational, knee-jerk reactions I've ever seen in regard to a topic. Bloggers, it's just a little too easy to fire off at the mouth, or the keyboard, as the case may be, without having ANY IDEA what we're talking about. Why do we do that? I'll admit, when I first heard about this play, my first reaction was that it must necessarily be an atrocity. But the first sentence I fired off about it wasn't in a blog post; it was in an email to the author of the play, to find out from the delightfully open and sincere horse's mouth what the real deal was. Do a technorati search, or some other blog search, on "Love Jerry" or "pedophile musical." I dare you. And then prepare to cringe, as you read what would be a ridiculously funny series of idiotic tirades by people who don't know anything about it, except for the fact that real ignorance is rarely ever funny. Pull your heads out of the sand of your self-presumed righteousness, and face the facts that we REALLY need to have open and honest discussions about what is happening to our children if we are ever to have any hope of truly protecting them. And please, if you have no idea what it is like to be a survivor of sexual abuse, a parent, or a friend of one, listen in intently on the discussion, contributing only when you feel you have something to say that brings a greater truth to light for the benefit of our society. Don't pretend to speak for the little people; chances are you aren't really speaking for them in the first place. And most of the adult survivors can speak for themselves quite nicely, thank you.
In other news, south clearly trumps north, according to googlefight. So there.
Also, listenership is up, thank you very much to the nice podcasters out there sharing about what I'm doing! And as exciting as the growing stats (particularly 1st day posting stats) are to me, they are not the true indicator of whether or not I have arrived as a podcaster-- I got my first piece of slightly inappropriate email feedback over the weekend. SCORE! From a guy. Who liked my accent. (What is UP with you Great Lakes states freaks? Seriously!) Truthfully, though, it made me smile on an otherwise boring day, so whatever. Also, today I noticed that I had my first review on iTunes-- 5 stars and a nice comment. Unfortunately, the review was written by my dad, and referenced my "sultry, southern drawl."
*crickets*
Thankyouverymuch.
I think I'm going to shove a bottle brush in one ear and out the other and scrub hard until that reference has been completely and totally erased from my brain.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
connectivity
It's amazing how we, as humans, have this innate desire to connect with each other-- to be accepted by, reach out to, and be reached by others. We're social creatures, really, not just in the sense of meeting a sociologically evolved need for protection, but in the fuller sense of having our own humanity and experiences validated by contact between, friendships with, and respect from other people.
Today, on my lunch break, I spent a bit of time speaking with a woman from my church for my next podcast (which should be out in a day or two). I met her through her little girl, I*. I* is a beautiful 5 year old girl with long eyelashes and gorgeous latte-brown skin, and she's in the Wednesday night kindergarten girls' class I taught at church until just last week. She's smart, sharp, and thoughtful, and was one of the two girls in that class that could always read the memory verse (my daughter is the other). Each week, I'd ask for prayer requests before our prayer time, and each week she would say, in her precious little voice, "please pray for my daddy." So, each week, we would pray for I*'s daddy, along with grandmas and grandpas, pets that had died, and boo-boos that needed healing.
I*'s mom volunteers each Wednesday night in the infant nursery at church, and I've always seen her as a quiet and shy kind of person. She's always alone taking care of her 3 children (ages 5 and younger), and blushes a bit when I tell her how wonderful I* is to have in my class. A few weeks back, at Wednesday night dinner before classes, I mentioned to her that I* always asks us to pray for her daddy. Her mom, K*, smiled and said that I* is always so thoughtful, and then told me why I* requests prayer for her daddy. It turns out that he has been in jail for the past two years without a trial, although he has a trial date set for May. Although K* believes firmly in his innocence, he stands accused of a serious crime, and there are no guarantees that he will be coming home any time soon. K* is now 25 years old, and went from dedicated wife and mother to single mom in the 20 minutes it took for her husband to be arrested.
I spent two weeks deciding if, when, and how to let her know I'd love to give her the opportunity to share her story on my podcast, before just going up and asking last week. I was so nervous, not that she would say no, but that she would think I'm an idiot or a jerk for even asking. Instead, she almost started to cry: "People almost always seem to forget that there's a family left behind... We get lost... I would love the opportunity to share my situation with others...." So, we set a date-- today at lunchtime.
I was nervous going to her home-- I'm not a professional at this, and would I know the right questions to ask? Would I put my foot in my mouth? I have a good bit of counseling training from seminary and over 2 years' experience at pastoral counseling from my time as a chaplain, but this was going to be different. I'm not there to counsel; I'm there to listen, to be a friend, and to give a voice to someone who has spent far too much of her life, to use her words, lost... ignored.
I pulled in to the drive and went past a long row of beat up singlewide trailers before finding hers. After her husband was jailed, K* had to quit her job, and relocated to a mobile home that had been given to her, on a lot with extremely low rent. In spite of the humble housing, it was warm and home-y, with nice candles burning, a tree decorated in the corner, and several small boxes wrapped neatly under the tree. I sat down onto the slightly lumpy, old, brown couch, and started to set up my recording stuff (I bought two new lapel microphones to try to get better sound quality on the outings this time). I was wondering how to begin the conversation, when K* spoke up.
"I can use our first names only, can't I?"
"Sure. You can say as little or as much as you want. This is your story, and I'll let you tell it the way you want."
"What if I start to cry-- is that okay?"
"Hey, I wore waterproof mascara today, just in case I cry with you. If you need to stop at any time, let me know and I'll shut off the recorder. And I can always go back in later and edit out anything you tell me you'd rather not have in."
"Talking about what got me through this, I'm going to talk a lot about God. Is that okay?"
"Of course. I don't censor content-- this is your story to tell."
There was a bit of a silence while K* thought for a while. When she spoke again, my heart dropped.
"I gave a baby up for adoption when I was 16. Can I talk about that before you leave? Will you put that in your podcast?"
It was then that it hit me-- hard-- how much we, as humans, crave being heard... being understood. I guess that's a big part of the premise behind my starting the kind of podcast I have. So many people out there-- people we just pass right by every day without ever giving a second thought, people we see as quiet and reserved, people who walk through our lives each week and we never even get close enough to realize that they're just barely putting one foot in front of the other, hoping that somehow, they'll make it through-- with a story to tell. I've been there. It's lonely. And sometimes, getting to tell someone the contents of our heart isn't an obligation or a chore; it's an opportunity for outpouring that is welcomed into a life in which you feel nobody wants to listen.
I assured K* that although I may not fit it into this episode of the podcast, I definitely would welcome her story, perhaps for a future podcast incorporating several different perspectives about adoption. Several times over the course of the interview, K* asked me to turn off the recorder, and shared even more about her life that strengthened my conviction that she is an overcomer of great character. After recording, she joined me for lunch, and we had some of the best conversation I've had in a while.
I'm sure there will be plenty of people with amazing stories of heartache and/or triumph that will not want to talk with me about it at all, much less for public broadcast. But if I'm right, and I suspect that I am, many of us are suffering from the way our society has tended to rip us apart from meaningful social networks (unless we deliberately preserve and create networks for social connectivity). And if, from the quiet and unspoken suffering of our isolation, we could reach out to others, be heard, speak out, and change perceptions, I think many of us would jump at the chance.
...................................
I'm about to leave my office, and head home for the night. I'll be driving home to a relatively small apartment, with three children who fight too much and a husband who wishes he could give us all more. We have the same crappy fake Christmas tree we've had for the past 3 years, and half of the beautiful matching Christmas ornaments I bought last year have been broken. There are more presents under our tree than in recent years, thanks to a generous holiday bonus I got at work. When I get home, my husband will go out for a few hours to study for his upcoming teacher certification exams, and I'll try to keep the kids from killing each other until bedtime, all the while trying to catch up on the cleaning that doesn't get done during the day. After the kids are in bed, I'll start to edit the audio from today into a podcast, and hearing it will remind me of some of the less-than-enviable things we're now going through as a family. I'll cry a little, and edit some more, and pretty soon my husband will come back home. At some bizarre hour, I'll crawl into bed next to my soul mate, and as I'm laying there having trouble falling asleep, like I've done every night for the past month, it will dawn on me that I am so completely blessed to have my children and my husband, a home that meets all our needs, a job where all the employees are treated well and spoiled rotten, and a life about which I really can't complain.
Look around you, people, and then give thanks. For every thing we can each find wrong with our lives, there are so many things that are right. Thank God.
Today, on my lunch break, I spent a bit of time speaking with a woman from my church for my next podcast (which should be out in a day or two). I met her through her little girl, I*. I* is a beautiful 5 year old girl with long eyelashes and gorgeous latte-brown skin, and she's in the Wednesday night kindergarten girls' class I taught at church until just last week. She's smart, sharp, and thoughtful, and was one of the two girls in that class that could always read the memory verse (my daughter is the other). Each week, I'd ask for prayer requests before our prayer time, and each week she would say, in her precious little voice, "please pray for my daddy." So, each week, we would pray for I*'s daddy, along with grandmas and grandpas, pets that had died, and boo-boos that needed healing.
I*'s mom volunteers each Wednesday night in the infant nursery at church, and I've always seen her as a quiet and shy kind of person. She's always alone taking care of her 3 children (ages 5 and younger), and blushes a bit when I tell her how wonderful I* is to have in my class. A few weeks back, at Wednesday night dinner before classes, I mentioned to her that I* always asks us to pray for her daddy. Her mom, K*, smiled and said that I* is always so thoughtful, and then told me why I* requests prayer for her daddy. It turns out that he has been in jail for the past two years without a trial, although he has a trial date set for May. Although K* believes firmly in his innocence, he stands accused of a serious crime, and there are no guarantees that he will be coming home any time soon. K* is now 25 years old, and went from dedicated wife and mother to single mom in the 20 minutes it took for her husband to be arrested.
I spent two weeks deciding if, when, and how to let her know I'd love to give her the opportunity to share her story on my podcast, before just going up and asking last week. I was so nervous, not that she would say no, but that she would think I'm an idiot or a jerk for even asking. Instead, she almost started to cry: "People almost always seem to forget that there's a family left behind... We get lost... I would love the opportunity to share my situation with others...." So, we set a date-- today at lunchtime.
I was nervous going to her home-- I'm not a professional at this, and would I know the right questions to ask? Would I put my foot in my mouth? I have a good bit of counseling training from seminary and over 2 years' experience at pastoral counseling from my time as a chaplain, but this was going to be different. I'm not there to counsel; I'm there to listen, to be a friend, and to give a voice to someone who has spent far too much of her life, to use her words, lost... ignored.
I pulled in to the drive and went past a long row of beat up singlewide trailers before finding hers. After her husband was jailed, K* had to quit her job, and relocated to a mobile home that had been given to her, on a lot with extremely low rent. In spite of the humble housing, it was warm and home-y, with nice candles burning, a tree decorated in the corner, and several small boxes wrapped neatly under the tree. I sat down onto the slightly lumpy, old, brown couch, and started to set up my recording stuff (I bought two new lapel microphones to try to get better sound quality on the outings this time). I was wondering how to begin the conversation, when K* spoke up.
"I can use our first names only, can't I?"
"Sure. You can say as little or as much as you want. This is your story, and I'll let you tell it the way you want."
"What if I start to cry-- is that okay?"
"Hey, I wore waterproof mascara today, just in case I cry with you. If you need to stop at any time, let me know and I'll shut off the recorder. And I can always go back in later and edit out anything you tell me you'd rather not have in."
"Talking about what got me through this, I'm going to talk a lot about God. Is that okay?"
"Of course. I don't censor content-- this is your story to tell."
There was a bit of a silence while K* thought for a while. When she spoke again, my heart dropped.
"I gave a baby up for adoption when I was 16. Can I talk about that before you leave? Will you put that in your podcast?"
It was then that it hit me-- hard-- how much we, as humans, crave being heard... being understood. I guess that's a big part of the premise behind my starting the kind of podcast I have. So many people out there-- people we just pass right by every day without ever giving a second thought, people we see as quiet and reserved, people who walk through our lives each week and we never even get close enough to realize that they're just barely putting one foot in front of the other, hoping that somehow, they'll make it through-- with a story to tell. I've been there. It's lonely. And sometimes, getting to tell someone the contents of our heart isn't an obligation or a chore; it's an opportunity for outpouring that is welcomed into a life in which you feel nobody wants to listen.
I assured K* that although I may not fit it into this episode of the podcast, I definitely would welcome her story, perhaps for a future podcast incorporating several different perspectives about adoption. Several times over the course of the interview, K* asked me to turn off the recorder, and shared even more about her life that strengthened my conviction that she is an overcomer of great character. After recording, she joined me for lunch, and we had some of the best conversation I've had in a while.
I'm sure there will be plenty of people with amazing stories of heartache and/or triumph that will not want to talk with me about it at all, much less for public broadcast. But if I'm right, and I suspect that I am, many of us are suffering from the way our society has tended to rip us apart from meaningful social networks (unless we deliberately preserve and create networks for social connectivity). And if, from the quiet and unspoken suffering of our isolation, we could reach out to others, be heard, speak out, and change perceptions, I think many of us would jump at the chance.
...................................
I'm about to leave my office, and head home for the night. I'll be driving home to a relatively small apartment, with three children who fight too much and a husband who wishes he could give us all more. We have the same crappy fake Christmas tree we've had for the past 3 years, and half of the beautiful matching Christmas ornaments I bought last year have been broken. There are more presents under our tree than in recent years, thanks to a generous holiday bonus I got at work. When I get home, my husband will go out for a few hours to study for his upcoming teacher certification exams, and I'll try to keep the kids from killing each other until bedtime, all the while trying to catch up on the cleaning that doesn't get done during the day. After the kids are in bed, I'll start to edit the audio from today into a podcast, and hearing it will remind me of some of the less-than-enviable things we're now going through as a family. I'll cry a little, and edit some more, and pretty soon my husband will come back home. At some bizarre hour, I'll crawl into bed next to my soul mate, and as I'm laying there having trouble falling asleep, like I've done every night for the past month, it will dawn on me that I am so completely blessed to have my children and my husband, a home that meets all our needs, a job where all the employees are treated well and spoiled rotten, and a life about which I really can't complain.
Look around you, people, and then give thanks. For every thing we can each find wrong with our lives, there are so many things that are right. Thank God.
Thursday, November 17, 2005
South Carolina
I recently recorded a guest podcast about Francis Marion, one of South Carolina's greatest heroes of the American Revolution. It got me thinking about my home state and why I'm so in love with everything Carolina. I was born in North Carolina to children from great, big, country families. I was the first on my mom's side to get a college degree; the third on my dad's. I lived with my grandparents for a time as a child. They gardened, built things, sold things, fixed things, and rode motorcycles, all of which made them great fun and makers of mystery for a 4 year old child. I had a go-cart, a zip line that went from the shed up on the hill down to the house, and a red wagon. I'd hike for hours through the clay hills, claiming my own personal mountain on which to build my throne, sliding downhill through my own Indiana Jones adventures, bringing home piles of clay to mold into more pinch pots than anyone could ever need, and finding "pop rocks" to bust open so I could paint on the side porch with the colored dust inside. I had a pellet gun, a climbing tree, and a strawberry patch; and I hated the way okra prickled on my fingers when my Mema would make me pick dinner.
When I was 5, my mom was living in Myrtle Beach and working as a performer at The Lighthouse Christian Theme Park. While working there, she met an entertainer who also worked at the park. They fell in love, and were married four months after my fifth birthday. Since then, South Carolina has always been home. As a kid and teen, all I could see was what was lacking. In high school, I worked hard at losing my southern accent, and was always so pleased when people would say to me, "you're not from around here, are you?" I looked at Myrtle Beach-- South Carolina's most popular vacation destination-- and saw how small it was, and how lacking in real opportunity. I loved Columbia when I moved there for college, but felt that things would somehow be better if I lived somewhere less backwards, with bigger cities, a more sophisticated population, and more non-Southerners. When, as a young, single mother, I was offered a chance to relocate to central Florida to help start a nonprofit organization for children with autism, I jumped at the chance to get out... to try my wings somewhere bigger, somewhere higher.
Seven years later, in 2004, I was growing more and more dissatisfied with the life I had chased down. Florida was beautiful much in the way a brochure of a tropical resort is beautiful-- beautiful oceans, nice sunsets, fancy restaurants, and beautiful people with blonde hair and flawless fashion sense dining on street corners at fancy bistros-- all very two dimensional. I lived in 3 different cities during my time in Florida. Each one had Brady Bunch style buildings, no architecture (only stucco, and lots of it), and more people than not who knew nothing of kindness, compassion, integrity, or courtesy. There were no hills, few (if any) old beat up barns on the sides of the back roads in most parts of the state, and my children never got to see leaves change colors. You can just forget about snow, too. None of that, either. With all due respect to Florida-loving readers, the state of Florida was, to me, like a big, shady go-go dancer. Seductive and larger than life when you're looking from a distance and under the right lighting, but unstable, not-so-beautiful, and gaudy if you get too close.
So, in 2004, when the brunt of Florida's lack of ethics, sanity, and integrity was unleashed upon us full force and the opportunity came to move back to South Carolina, I was ready. I had experienced life outside of the Deep South, gotten it out of my system, and realized that greener grass does not a true home make. My husband, a Florida native who had fallen in love with South Carolina on our many visits here, had his bags packed before I could even ask. It was time, and it never could have been a more perfect time.
Moving back to South Carolina last year, I had an experience that few Carolinians get to have-- discovering the home state you never before appreciated as if for the first time. I'll never forget the way that my husband and I would marvel at every back road. Big, hilly fields of soybeans, or hay, or cotton lined every state road, and old, metal sheds and barns speckled the countryside as if they had fallen out of a painting and into every path that existed between my home and my dad's. The fall leaves were the most amazing thing I had ever seen, up against the backdrop of a cool, foggy morning, and Columbia had never had more character. Every now and then, our first winter back, I would run out the front door in my pajamas in the morning, just so I could really feel 22 degrees on bare feet and crisp cold on my nose. South Carolina's rich heritage, gorgeous old buildings, and peaceful simplicity were just what I needed to rebuild my heart. Together with my family, I had found in the place I once fought to escape so much of what I truly needed in my life. The last year has been a time for healing, and a time for simply appreciating God's perfect plan-- beauty, simplicity, and family. I'm at peace.
Self-reflection tends to be a hobby of mine; I'm well-aware of how much I idealize and romanticize the Deep South. I know its' history well, know its' landscape and people, and know that no matter where I go, I can't escape from myself. But for now, I choose to see where I am as a beautiful place God has prepared for me to rest in for a while, and I am thankful.
When I was 5, my mom was living in Myrtle Beach and working as a performer at The Lighthouse Christian Theme Park. While working there, she met an entertainer who also worked at the park. They fell in love, and were married four months after my fifth birthday. Since then, South Carolina has always been home. As a kid and teen, all I could see was what was lacking. In high school, I worked hard at losing my southern accent, and was always so pleased when people would say to me, "you're not from around here, are you?" I looked at Myrtle Beach-- South Carolina's most popular vacation destination-- and saw how small it was, and how lacking in real opportunity. I loved Columbia when I moved there for college, but felt that things would somehow be better if I lived somewhere less backwards, with bigger cities, a more sophisticated population, and more non-Southerners. When, as a young, single mother, I was offered a chance to relocate to central Florida to help start a nonprofit organization for children with autism, I jumped at the chance to get out... to try my wings somewhere bigger, somewhere higher.
Seven years later, in 2004, I was growing more and more dissatisfied with the life I had chased down. Florida was beautiful much in the way a brochure of a tropical resort is beautiful-- beautiful oceans, nice sunsets, fancy restaurants, and beautiful people with blonde hair and flawless fashion sense dining on street corners at fancy bistros-- all very two dimensional. I lived in 3 different cities during my time in Florida. Each one had Brady Bunch style buildings, no architecture (only stucco, and lots of it), and more people than not who knew nothing of kindness, compassion, integrity, or courtesy. There were no hills, few (if any) old beat up barns on the sides of the back roads in most parts of the state, and my children never got to see leaves change colors. You can just forget about snow, too. None of that, either. With all due respect to Florida-loving readers, the state of Florida was, to me, like a big, shady go-go dancer. Seductive and larger than life when you're looking from a distance and under the right lighting, but unstable, not-so-beautiful, and gaudy if you get too close.
So, in 2004, when the brunt of Florida's lack of ethics, sanity, and integrity was unleashed upon us full force and the opportunity came to move back to South Carolina, I was ready. I had experienced life outside of the Deep South, gotten it out of my system, and realized that greener grass does not a true home make. My husband, a Florida native who had fallen in love with South Carolina on our many visits here, had his bags packed before I could even ask. It was time, and it never could have been a more perfect time.
Moving back to South Carolina last year, I had an experience that few Carolinians get to have-- discovering the home state you never before appreciated as if for the first time. I'll never forget the way that my husband and I would marvel at every back road. Big, hilly fields of soybeans, or hay, or cotton lined every state road, and old, metal sheds and barns speckled the countryside as if they had fallen out of a painting and into every path that existed between my home and my dad's. The fall leaves were the most amazing thing I had ever seen, up against the backdrop of a cool, foggy morning, and Columbia had never had more character. Every now and then, our first winter back, I would run out the front door in my pajamas in the morning, just so I could really feel 22 degrees on bare feet and crisp cold on my nose. South Carolina's rich heritage, gorgeous old buildings, and peaceful simplicity were just what I needed to rebuild my heart. Together with my family, I had found in the place I once fought to escape so much of what I truly needed in my life. The last year has been a time for healing, and a time for simply appreciating God's perfect plan-- beauty, simplicity, and family. I'm at peace.
Self-reflection tends to be a hobby of mine; I'm well-aware of how much I idealize and romanticize the Deep South. I know its' history well, know its' landscape and people, and know that no matter where I go, I can't escape from myself. But for now, I choose to see where I am as a beautiful place God has prepared for me to rest in for a while, and I am thankful.
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