My Dear Reader,
As many of you know, Leonard Nimoy, most famous for his role as Spock, passed away today.
A lot of people outside of the Star Trek fandom do not understand what Spock brought to the world, and therefore do not understand what we have lost.
Spock is not just a guy with pointy ears. He's a complex character who developed beautifully over decades of Star Trek episodes and movies, enriching millions of lives in the process.
He's half-human, half-Vulcan, and it takes him a long time to figure out his place in the universe. As a Vulcan, he is born with strong, primal emotions that would lead him to madness without careful discipline. He's taught that he has to purge all emotion completely. So, when we first see him, he appears completely emotionless. He refuses to acknowledge that he has any feelings at all. Yet, he spends every day among humans, who are free to express emotion without the same consequences. He has these two halves, one that tells him that feelings will make him a monster, and another that tells him that he's a monster for not feeling at all. As a result, he really feels like he doesn't belong anywhere. He's a man without a home.
But you can watch Spock as he starts to reevaluate what he is being taught, as he starts to think that maybe there's a middle ground between these two worlds, and as he slowly finds a balance between these two parts of him and ends up with an inner peace he never dreamed of. In the end, Spock is a whole, healed person.
This is a story that is not told often. It is not told as completely, or as well. But Leonard Nimoy's performance speaks to outcasts of all kinds: people who are bi-racial, people on the autism spectrum, people with depression (me), and many, many others.
There are a lot of people out there who just don't feel like they belong. A lot of them feel like they can't ever be their true selves, that in order to fit in, they have to be someone else. Spock showed us that not only is it possible to find peace with who we are, it's a necessary step to happiness. It's not about fitting in. It's not about rebelling. It's about finding a balance between the two, and finding the discipline to be your best self.
This message is so important, and so very rare. I am so very thankful to live in a world where this message is expressed at all.
Of course, Leonard Nimoy was so much more than Spock. He didn't just play the part and fade away; he was involved with fans until the end, listening and encouraging them to lead better lives. He became a grandpa to the world.
I feel so blessed to be in a world that had him in it. He will be sorely missed.
-Cecily Jane
Friday, February 27, 2015
Tuesday, January 13, 2015
Sticks, Stones, and Barnacles
My Dear Reader,
As a person who is continually focused on self-improvement, I really love starting fresh. I love a new year, a new month, even a new week. So this time of the year (even though it's cloudy and cold and distinctively not Christmas) is one of my favorites. I like taking time to take stock and learn more about myself.
One of the things I've been interested in is the Myers–Briggs Type Indicator (or MBTI), a personality test that I find really helpful. According to MBTI, I'm an ENFP, i.e. Extroverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Perceiving. Really, it's just a way to explain how I see the world, and how I react to things. I find that reading about ENFPs is a good way to learn about myself and figure out how to move forward.
(I'd recommend taking the test yourself, if you're interested. Here's a random link I found.)
I find myself subscribing to blogs that talk about MTBI types, and I like to read about ENFPs and try to figure out if/how that I read applies to me. Just a few days ago, I came across this post about how different MTBI types react to insults. Here's what it said:
You see, guess I have this tendency to collect mean people? I mean, sometimes they kind of accumulate around me, like parasitic barnacles. At some point, someone will point them out for me. "Um, Cecily," they'll say, "why are you allowing an arthropod attach to you and feed by extending thread-like rhizomes of living cells into your body?"
Wait, no, that's not what they say. They're not in on this metaphor.
"Cecily," they'll say, "why do you let that person hang around you? They're mean to you."
And really, you should probably put distance between yourself and people who are mean to you. That sounds like a sentiment expressed in some kind of after-school special.
It's something I struggle with, because, yeah, it hurts when people try to put me down. And it's not that hard to do to me, really, because I don't actively hide my faults. I've spent so much time trying to identify my weaknesses so I can overcome them, and you know what? I've actually made progress. One of the things I love about a new year is looking back and seeing how far I've come. So, if you spend any time with me at all, I will eventually tell you something that indicates that I'm not perfect, that I make mistakes, and that I'm still working on stuff. (Example: this blog.)
And I've learned that most people are really kind, and sometimes hearing my story makes them feel comfortable with their own faults. I like that. I'd like to live in a world in which people are okay with the fact that we are imperfect people who are (ideally) on a journey to perfection. To me, that's what my faith, and what Christianity in general is all about. I feel like being a true Christian is learning to accept and embrace the possibility of change in yourself and others.
So when I open myself up like that, I'm just trying to do my part to create that world.
But I've also learned that some people don't see it that way. Some people hear you say that one time you had this embarrassing moment, or one time you overcame this problem, and they decide that they've found a weakness. They decide that they want to exploit that weakness by bringing it up as often as possible. Out of context. In private, in public, and behind your back.
And after a while, I figure out that I have to be careful about these people, and I stop being open with them. I figure that I shouldn't hand people a knife if they have a penchant for stabbing.
But, at the same time, I feel like being open about faults isn't a weakness. I feel like taking advantage of it is.
Whenever someone is mean to me, once I get over the initial sting, my first thought is to wonder why they would do such a thing. And the deeper the cut goes, the more data I collect to solve the puzzle. That, in a nutshell, is how and why the barnacles accumulate.
Actually, here's a flowchart I made just for you:
You see, over the course of my life, I've realized that when people are mean, they usually are acting out of a place of pain. So, the meaner you are to me, the more you are revealing your own personal pain. And the more you expose your personal pain, the more data points I'll collect to narrow down the reason for your pain. Maybe, by now, I've mapped out your worst nightmares.
(Luckily for you, that's not a threat, because I don't enjoy hurting people.)
And you know what? In the end, you can hurt me, but you really can't change me. I'm not going to have an existential crisis because you're trying to put me down. I already know who and why I am, but thanks for playing.
You see, every first of January we can sit down and decide who we are, and who we want to be. But it's not platitudes written on paper that show us who we are. You show who you are by the way you react to me. I show who I am by how I react to you.
So, as I approach a brand new year, I find myself looking at these barnacles and wondering if maybe it's time to scrape some off. Maybe I'm trying to solve too many mysteries.
Or maybe I need to respond to a cry for help, no matter what form it comes in.
I don't know. But I'm pretty sure that my flowchart needs work.
Regards, best wishes, and an insightful new year,
-Cecily Jane
*While I do find that most of what's written about ENPFs is really accurate, I also have to factor in my Clinical Depression™. Sometimes I've been so unstable that I've defined myself by what other people said about me (even if it was mean and baseless). There were times when somebody said I was bad at X, and in my mind, I've become Bad at X Girl. Luckily, these days I've become a lot healthier, and I rarely have those thoughts.
As a person who is continually focused on self-improvement, I really love starting fresh. I love a new year, a new month, even a new week. So this time of the year (even though it's cloudy and cold and distinctively not Christmas) is one of my favorites. I like taking time to take stock and learn more about myself.
One of the things I've been interested in is the Myers–Briggs Type Indicator (or MBTI), a personality test that I find really helpful. According to MBTI, I'm an ENFP, i.e. Extroverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Perceiving. Really, it's just a way to explain how I see the world, and how I react to things. I find that reading about ENFPs is a good way to learn about myself and figure out how to move forward.
(I'd recommend taking the test yourself, if you're interested. Here's a random link I found.)
I find myself subscribing to blogs that talk about MTBI types, and I like to read about ENFPs and try to figure out if/how that I read applies to me. Just a few days ago, I came across this post about how different MTBI types react to insults. Here's what it said:
ENFP: They will be hurt by the insult but will not let it change what they already believe about themselves (however, if it is something they are self-conscious about already they will be extremely hurt). Wonders whether there was an emotional cause (either something you did or an emotional problem the other person had) that caused the outburst.And wow, does that really describe the way I've been reacting to some really mean people in my life.
You see, guess I have this tendency to collect mean people? I mean, sometimes they kind of accumulate around me, like parasitic barnacles. At some point, someone will point them out for me. "Um, Cecily," they'll say, "why are you allowing an arthropod attach to you and feed by extending thread-like rhizomes of living cells into your body?"
Wait, no, that's not what they say. They're not in on this metaphor.
"Cecily," they'll say, "why do you let that person hang around you? They're mean to you."
And really, you should probably put distance between yourself and people who are mean to you. That sounds like a sentiment expressed in some kind of after-school special.
It's something I struggle with, because, yeah, it hurts when people try to put me down. And it's not that hard to do to me, really, because I don't actively hide my faults. I've spent so much time trying to identify my weaknesses so I can overcome them, and you know what? I've actually made progress. One of the things I love about a new year is looking back and seeing how far I've come. So, if you spend any time with me at all, I will eventually tell you something that indicates that I'm not perfect, that I make mistakes, and that I'm still working on stuff. (Example: this blog.)
And I've learned that most people are really kind, and sometimes hearing my story makes them feel comfortable with their own faults. I like that. I'd like to live in a world in which people are okay with the fact that we are imperfect people who are (ideally) on a journey to perfection. To me, that's what my faith, and what Christianity in general is all about. I feel like being a true Christian is learning to accept and embrace the possibility of change in yourself and others.
So when I open myself up like that, I'm just trying to do my part to create that world.
But I've also learned that some people don't see it that way. Some people hear you say that one time you had this embarrassing moment, or one time you overcame this problem, and they decide that they've found a weakness. They decide that they want to exploit that weakness by bringing it up as often as possible. Out of context. In private, in public, and behind your back.
And after a while, I figure out that I have to be careful about these people, and I stop being open with them. I figure that I shouldn't hand people a knife if they have a penchant for stabbing.
But, at the same time, I feel like being open about faults isn't a weakness. I feel like taking advantage of it is.
Whenever someone is mean to me, once I get over the initial sting, my first thought is to wonder why they would do such a thing. And the deeper the cut goes, the more data I collect to solve the puzzle. That, in a nutshell, is how and why the barnacles accumulate.
Actually, here's a flowchart I made just for you:
(Click to embiggen)
You see, over the course of my life, I've realized that when people are mean, they usually are acting out of a place of pain. So, the meaner you are to me, the more you are revealing your own personal pain. And the more you expose your personal pain, the more data points I'll collect to narrow down the reason for your pain. Maybe, by now, I've mapped out your worst nightmares.
(Luckily for you, that's not a threat, because I don't enjoy hurting people.)
And you know what? In the end, you can hurt me, but you really can't change me. I'm not going to have an existential crisis because you're trying to put me down. I already know who and why I am, but thanks for playing.
You see, every first of January we can sit down and decide who we are, and who we want to be. But it's not platitudes written on paper that show us who we are. You show who you are by the way you react to me. I show who I am by how I react to you.
So, as I approach a brand new year, I find myself looking at these barnacles and wondering if maybe it's time to scrape some off. Maybe I'm trying to solve too many mysteries.
Or maybe I need to respond to a cry for help, no matter what form it comes in.
I don't know. But I'm pretty sure that my flowchart needs work.
Regards, best wishes, and an insightful new year,
-Cecily Jane
*While I do find that most of what's written about ENPFs is really accurate, I also have to factor in my Clinical Depression™. Sometimes I've been so unstable that I've defined myself by what other people said about me (even if it was mean and baseless). There were times when somebody said I was bad at X, and in my mind, I've become Bad at X Girl. Luckily, these days I've become a lot healthier, and I rarely have those thoughts.
Tuesday, April 15, 2014
I Have Strong Feelings About Salad, Okay?
My Dear Reader,
I mean it. Sometimes salad makes me mad.
I attribute most of this to the fact that I don't like salad dressing. Like, the smell of ranch makes me want to vomit. That's what I mean when I say that I don't like it.
And I realize that this is just a quirk of mine, and some might even say that this is a fault. I'm picky, in this way at least, and I'm making life harder on everyone around me by disliking something that everybody else loves. I won't dispute that argument.
But what I will say is that when you live life dressing-less, you start to see the world differently. Well, at least you start to see salad differently. And let me tell you something: a lot of you don't realize this, but what most people call salads aren't really salads.
Most so-called salads are really just lettuce with gobs of oil and fat poured over it.
We have been had!
Sometimes, the salads I get served at restaurants just make my blood boil. Did I just pay $2.99 for a couple of leaves and a few slivers of carrot? Yes, yes I did. Something is wrong with this world.
Now, anyone who knows me will tell you that I am not a particularly calorie-conscious person. One time, I was in the check out line at a grocery store and, to my horror, I discovered that I accidentally picked up a reduced fat gallon of ice cream. I may have screamed audibly.
So, that said, when you eat a salad without the dressing, you experience something that a lot of people hardly ever experience. You find out what lettuce actually tastes like. And man, some of it literally tastes like dirt, so I don't really blame you. But at the same time, I wonder if lettuce tastes like dirt for a very simple and obvious reason.
Maybe going dressing-less makes you wash your lettuce a little longer than other people. Just saying.
But yeah, I definitely know what lettuce tastes like. I also know what tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots taste like. And I am happy to eat them solo. But I know a lot of people who never do that, and that really worries me. I mean, not to judge you as a person or anything, but if you can't eat a vegetable without drowning it in fat, then maybe it's healthier to not eat vegetables at all? And that's kind of sad?
To sum up, I would like to propose a few food rules:
1. If you're going to eat ice cream, you should just eat the darn ice cream
2. A salad is not a salad unless it has more than two ingredients that are neither lettuce nor dressing
3. Lettuce should not taste like dirt
and
4. We should all know what common vegetables actually taste like by themselves
Okay, now that I have that off of my chest, I'd like to thank you for your time. Please feel free to add your own food quirks/rules in the comments.
In the meantime, I will continue my ongoing attempts to convince my family that while preparing a salad for a group, you can just leave the dressing on the side. That way, people can choose how much of which dressing they want. And the dressing doesn't get soggy. Everyone wins!
Regards, best wishes, and really, this isn't that hard,
-Cecily Jane
I mean it. Sometimes salad makes me mad.
I attribute most of this to the fact that I don't like salad dressing. Like, the smell of ranch makes me want to vomit. That's what I mean when I say that I don't like it.
And I realize that this is just a quirk of mine, and some might even say that this is a fault. I'm picky, in this way at least, and I'm making life harder on everyone around me by disliking something that everybody else loves. I won't dispute that argument.
But what I will say is that when you live life dressing-less, you start to see the world differently. Well, at least you start to see salad differently. And let me tell you something: a lot of you don't realize this, but what most people call salads aren't really salads.
Most so-called salads are really just lettuce with gobs of oil and fat poured over it.
We have been had!
Sometimes, the salads I get served at restaurants just make my blood boil. Did I just pay $2.99 for a couple of leaves and a few slivers of carrot? Yes, yes I did. Something is wrong with this world.
Now, anyone who knows me will tell you that I am not a particularly calorie-conscious person. One time, I was in the check out line at a grocery store and, to my horror, I discovered that I accidentally picked up a reduced fat gallon of ice cream. I may have screamed audibly.
So, that said, when you eat a salad without the dressing, you experience something that a lot of people hardly ever experience. You find out what lettuce actually tastes like. And man, some of it literally tastes like dirt, so I don't really blame you. But at the same time, I wonder if lettuce tastes like dirt for a very simple and obvious reason.
Maybe going dressing-less makes you wash your lettuce a little longer than other people. Just saying.
But yeah, I definitely know what lettuce tastes like. I also know what tomatoes, cucumbers, and carrots taste like. And I am happy to eat them solo. But I know a lot of people who never do that, and that really worries me. I mean, not to judge you as a person or anything, but if you can't eat a vegetable without drowning it in fat, then maybe it's healthier to not eat vegetables at all? And that's kind of sad?
To sum up, I would like to propose a few food rules:
1. If you're going to eat ice cream, you should just eat the darn ice cream
2. A salad is not a salad unless it has more than two ingredients that are neither lettuce nor dressing
3. Lettuce should not taste like dirt
and
4. We should all know what common vegetables actually taste like by themselves
Okay, now that I have that off of my chest, I'd like to thank you for your time. Please feel free to add your own food quirks/rules in the comments.
In the meantime, I will continue my ongoing attempts to convince my family that while preparing a salad for a group, you can just leave the dressing on the side. That way, people can choose how much of which dressing they want. And the dressing doesn't get soggy. Everyone wins!
Regards, best wishes, and really, this isn't that hard,
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
Cecily vs. the Glass Box
My Dear Reader,
My sophomore year in college, I had a roommate who, at that time, was one of the most confounding human beings I had ever met. I'm not into naming people on this blog without their permission, so I'll call her Sarah.
Sarah confused and frustrated me, not because she was a bad person, or because she did anything wrong. She confused me because she was a punk rocker. And a Mormon. Usually those two don't mix, and if they do, it doesn't end well.
I remember being very concerned for the welfare of Sarah's soul. It kept me up at night. I heard her dark music, and the dark movies she liked, and the way her clothes were more like costumes than anything, and I was so worried that she was going down some path that was as dark and angry as her taste in, well, everything.
And yet, at the same time, she would go to church with me like it was the most natural thing in the world. And even though I expected her to be ignorant of gospel topics, she always held her own when we talked about it. Actually, sometimes her understanding just blew me away.
You see, I grew up in California, one of the most diverse places you can find these days. I met all kinds of people who lived all kinds of lifestyles. I had friends/acquaintances of every race and religion. Punk rockers? I knew a lot of those. And they had a strong tendency to sit in the halls during church and complain about how their parents forced them to go. And a lot of them were actually pretty awful to me. Not all of them, though. Just a lot of them.
Of course, at the same time, I was in the throes of my Great Battle with Clinical Depression™, and a lot of the dark music was a mirror for what was happening in my heart. I had gone through the worst of it by then, but I hadn't figured out how to manage my condition. When I moved in with Sarah, I was pretty messed up. So maybe it wasn't just Sarah I was worried about. Maybe I felt like I was climbing out of this great, deep hole, and I was worried that Sarah would pull me back into it.
And one day, I don't know how, or why, but I must have said something weird, because Sarah came right out and called me racist. RACIST! I was so shocked that I think I just blinked at her. Sure, she was Latina. I mean, that was obvious. But I grew up in California. I took Spanish in high school, where I was one of three white kids in the class. My parents were both fluent Spanish speakers, who lived in Portugal and Argentina as missionaries. I knew what a bombilla was and how to use it. I could make my own dulce de leche.
I mean, come on. How could I be more accepting of her skin color?
I knew lots of Latinos (still do), enough to know that they all came from different circumstances and had different strengths and weaknesses, just like all other human beings. The idea that Sarah's race could even effect our relationship in a negative way just boggled my mind.
So I knew that I had to tell her. I knew that I finally had to say what I had spent months trying not to say. I told her it wasn't her heritage that bothered me; it was her subculture. And I told her that it wasn't really her clothes, but her soul that I was ultimately worried about.
It's weird, sometimes, how one simple truth can change everything. Her truth, that she saw me as racist, changed my entire perspective of our relationship. Of course she saw my confused expression as a scowl. (I was deeply unhappy with my life. Most of my expressions looked like scowls.) Of course she saw me taking my distance, and saw it as disgust. Of course that was the source of the tension in our relationship.
Of course.
Only, it wasn't true. So when I shared my truth with her, how I was really feeling, she changed her perspective, too. Instead of being offended, she understood that I just didn't get it. So she explained it. She explained to me why she liked those bands and those specific songs and why Tim Burton was so great to her. She told me that she knew she didn't dress or act the way that other people did at church, but that didn't matter. As long as she followed God's commandments (and she did, that also confused me), she didn't care about conforming to the rest of it.
Sarah and I actually became really good friends. She had a lot to teach me, not just about subculture, but about mental health. She had dealt with a lot of trauma in her life, and she had turned to punk as a way to live out her emotions. She was going through her own stuff, and she had learned a lot, and she was actually really patient with her emotionally broken roommate (me). We had a lot more in common than I had ever expected.*
I honestly don't think I would have ever been able to be the person I am now if I didn't know Sarah. She helped me so much!
And Sarah isn't the only "Sarah" I've run into over the years. I've met other people who were as confusing to me as Sarah was. I still do, really. Sometimes I have to explain to them that that look on my face is not judgement as much as it's a "Huh?" Well, maybe there's a little judgement in there; I'm not perfect, yet (still working on that). It's just that I need to find a way to adapt.
But we all get used to the way we see the world. We like to surround ourselves with other people who see the world the way we do. And then someone comes along that we can't fit in a box, and it breaks that glass box we were in. You know, that glass box that you trap yourself in, without knowing it, where the people you like are on the inside and the other people are on the outside. And then it shatters, and you're not sure that you knew it was there in the first place. That glass box.
Racism can be a glass box. I wasn't racist towards Sarah, but that's because I had met so many people before Sarah, who challenged my perceptions and forced me to change the way I see things. Or the way I was conditioned to see things. Glass box: shattered!**
Sometimes, I wonder if I live in a series of glass boxes, like a Russian nesting doll situation. I shatter one glass box, and I think I'm done. All the people on the outside are now on the inside. I'm free! Until I get to the next glass box, which is bigger and more complex. I walk right into in one day without knowing it was there, and I realize that I have to shatter that box, too. And another box. And another one. Will I ever get out of these boxes?
Is this some kind of glass spaceship, and when I shatter the last one, I'll find myself in the nothingness of space and all of us will suffocate and explode?
Okay, probably not. But sometimes when you're standing in front of your glass box, and you put your hand on the panes, it can feel that way. It's really scary to give up our mindset and open ourselves up to change. But we all have to do it if we want to be better than we are. If we want to really see the world the way it is.
It's funny, now, to think of me inside my glass box while Sarah was in hers. How wrong we were! But we were smart, too, because we were willing to get ourselves out of those boxes and actually see each other.
Hopefully, I will get the chance to truly see many different people.
Regards, best wishes, and unlikely allies,
-Cecily Jane
*Sometimes, I look back on my life and wonder why, after all the pain and anguish I went through, I didn't go through a punk phase. Or a goth phase. Instead, I buried myself in musical theater and science fiction, and refused to wear any other other than blue. That's just weird.
**I'm not saying that I'm 100% un-racist. I don't know that anyone is. It's an ongoing process. I'm just, you know, trying.
My sophomore year in college, I had a roommate who, at that time, was one of the most confounding human beings I had ever met. I'm not into naming people on this blog without their permission, so I'll call her Sarah.
Sarah confused and frustrated me, not because she was a bad person, or because she did anything wrong. She confused me because she was a punk rocker. And a Mormon. Usually those two don't mix, and if they do, it doesn't end well.
I remember being very concerned for the welfare of Sarah's soul. It kept me up at night. I heard her dark music, and the dark movies she liked, and the way her clothes were more like costumes than anything, and I was so worried that she was going down some path that was as dark and angry as her taste in, well, everything.
And yet, at the same time, she would go to church with me like it was the most natural thing in the world. And even though I expected her to be ignorant of gospel topics, she always held her own when we talked about it. Actually, sometimes her understanding just blew me away.
You see, I grew up in California, one of the most diverse places you can find these days. I met all kinds of people who lived all kinds of lifestyles. I had friends/acquaintances of every race and religion. Punk rockers? I knew a lot of those. And they had a strong tendency to sit in the halls during church and complain about how their parents forced them to go. And a lot of them were actually pretty awful to me. Not all of them, though. Just a lot of them.
Of course, at the same time, I was in the throes of my Great Battle with Clinical Depression™, and a lot of the dark music was a mirror for what was happening in my heart. I had gone through the worst of it by then, but I hadn't figured out how to manage my condition. When I moved in with Sarah, I was pretty messed up. So maybe it wasn't just Sarah I was worried about. Maybe I felt like I was climbing out of this great, deep hole, and I was worried that Sarah would pull me back into it.
And one day, I don't know how, or why, but I must have said something weird, because Sarah came right out and called me racist. RACIST! I was so shocked that I think I just blinked at her. Sure, she was Latina. I mean, that was obvious. But I grew up in California. I took Spanish in high school, where I was one of three white kids in the class. My parents were both fluent Spanish speakers, who lived in Portugal and Argentina as missionaries. I knew what a bombilla was and how to use it. I could make my own dulce de leche.
I mean, come on. How could I be more accepting of her skin color?
I knew lots of Latinos (still do), enough to know that they all came from different circumstances and had different strengths and weaknesses, just like all other human beings. The idea that Sarah's race could even effect our relationship in a negative way just boggled my mind.
So I knew that I had to tell her. I knew that I finally had to say what I had spent months trying not to say. I told her it wasn't her heritage that bothered me; it was her subculture. And I told her that it wasn't really her clothes, but her soul that I was ultimately worried about.
It's weird, sometimes, how one simple truth can change everything. Her truth, that she saw me as racist, changed my entire perspective of our relationship. Of course she saw my confused expression as a scowl. (I was deeply unhappy with my life. Most of my expressions looked like scowls.) Of course she saw me taking my distance, and saw it as disgust. Of course that was the source of the tension in our relationship.
Of course.
Only, it wasn't true. So when I shared my truth with her, how I was really feeling, she changed her perspective, too. Instead of being offended, she understood that I just didn't get it. So she explained it. She explained to me why she liked those bands and those specific songs and why Tim Burton was so great to her. She told me that she knew she didn't dress or act the way that other people did at church, but that didn't matter. As long as she followed God's commandments (and she did, that also confused me), she didn't care about conforming to the rest of it.
Sarah and I actually became really good friends. She had a lot to teach me, not just about subculture, but about mental health. She had dealt with a lot of trauma in her life, and she had turned to punk as a way to live out her emotions. She was going through her own stuff, and she had learned a lot, and she was actually really patient with her emotionally broken roommate (me). We had a lot more in common than I had ever expected.*
I honestly don't think I would have ever been able to be the person I am now if I didn't know Sarah. She helped me so much!
And Sarah isn't the only "Sarah" I've run into over the years. I've met other people who were as confusing to me as Sarah was. I still do, really. Sometimes I have to explain to them that that look on my face is not judgement as much as it's a "Huh?" Well, maybe there's a little judgement in there; I'm not perfect, yet (still working on that). It's just that I need to find a way to adapt.
But we all get used to the way we see the world. We like to surround ourselves with other people who see the world the way we do. And then someone comes along that we can't fit in a box, and it breaks that glass box we were in. You know, that glass box that you trap yourself in, without knowing it, where the people you like are on the inside and the other people are on the outside. And then it shatters, and you're not sure that you knew it was there in the first place. That glass box.
Racism can be a glass box. I wasn't racist towards Sarah, but that's because I had met so many people before Sarah, who challenged my perceptions and forced me to change the way I see things. Or the way I was conditioned to see things. Glass box: shattered!**
Sometimes, I wonder if I live in a series of glass boxes, like a Russian nesting doll situation. I shatter one glass box, and I think I'm done. All the people on the outside are now on the inside. I'm free! Until I get to the next glass box, which is bigger and more complex. I walk right into in one day without knowing it was there, and I realize that I have to shatter that box, too. And another box. And another one. Will I ever get out of these boxes?
Is this some kind of glass spaceship, and when I shatter the last one, I'll find myself in the nothingness of space and all of us will suffocate and explode?
Okay, probably not. But sometimes when you're standing in front of your glass box, and you put your hand on the panes, it can feel that way. It's really scary to give up our mindset and open ourselves up to change. But we all have to do it if we want to be better than we are. If we want to really see the world the way it is.
It's funny, now, to think of me inside my glass box while Sarah was in hers. How wrong we were! But we were smart, too, because we were willing to get ourselves out of those boxes and actually see each other.
Hopefully, I will get the chance to truly see many different people.
Regards, best wishes, and unlikely allies,
-Cecily Jane
*Sometimes, I look back on my life and wonder why, after all the pain and anguish I went through, I didn't go through a punk phase. Or a goth phase. Instead, I buried myself in musical theater and science fiction, and refused to wear any other other than blue. That's just weird.
**I'm not saying that I'm 100% un-racist. I don't know that anyone is. It's an ongoing process. I'm just, you know, trying.
Tuesday, February 4, 2014
The Difference Between Conservatism and Liberalism
My Dear Reader,
Life is getting political again. Or maybe it always is. Maybe I just manage to ignore it the rest of the time.
Anyway, I have a lot of friends that have opposing political viewpoints. I've lived in California, Utah, and Oregon, so I feel that I can say that with perfect honesty. Some of my friends agree with my political viewpoints. Some of them don't.
And you know what? That's fine. I've always thought that if everyone thinks the same way, then maybe no one is really thinking.
But that stops becoming fine when people get mean. And it seems that mean is all people get these days. I feel like there used to be a time when people could see a member of an opposing political party and still think of that person as good and moral. This time may have been before the advent of cable news. As I grew up with cable news, I'm not sure if this period of political politeness is real or myth.
But whether or not it ever existed, here's the thing: most people want the world to be better. Like, ninety nine percent of us. Most of us want to be happy, and we want our neighbors to be happy, too. We want everyone to be happy, really. Most of us don't like problems, and we'd much prefer it if those problems would go away.
Really, if you don't see people this way, I challenge you to get to know more people. I challenge you to set aside your prejudices and find someone who is very different than you, and honestly try to understand their viewpoint. It's not an easy skill to master, and most of us (like me) only develop this skill when we have to. Like when someone we love decides to step into one of those groups that we don't understand or that we despise.
This happened to me once. Well, more than once, really. But one time it happened in a way that I could not ignore. Someone that I love dearly, who I always thought was on my side, suddenly moved to the other side. And s/he did it in such a dramatic way that it ruined our very precious relationship. So, out of desperation, I decided to try to repair that relationship by any means necessary. And one of those means happened to be sitting down and trying to figure out why s/he did it. And trying to figure out how a person could do that and still be a good person.
And, in this specific case, part of the change was political. I'm a conservative. This person used to be, too, until s/he decided to adopt a staunchly liberal viewpoint. It didn't happen overnight, but it seemed to. It took me by surprise.
So, because of this and because of other aspects in our relationship, I spent a lot of time feeling betrayed. I spent a lot of time really hurt. And I'm not going to say that this was all in my head, or that I was stupid, because the truth is that my feelings were real, and they came from things that were done and said to me. But, after a while, I decided that it was time to heal. Pain gets tiresome after a while, you know? So I did something drastic: I applied the principles of the gospel of Christ and I made a sincere attempt to love my new enemy. And that included trying to understand liberalism.
And you know what I found? Pretty much everything I mentioned above. That people are good and want to world to be better. Even liberals. Because it took a lot of time and effort, but I figured out why liberals are liberal (and why conservatives are conservative). And that changed the way I looked at the people I oppose politically. Here's what I learned.
The difference between liberals and conservatives is that conservatives want to affect change via private methods (charities, private businesses, private organizations, etc.) and liberals want to affect change via public methods (government programs, etc.).
And what is the change that liberals and conservatives are trying to affect? Often it's the same. I mean, it's the same if you look at the big picture. It's not if you look at specific issues, seeing as conservatives and liberals are often at odds when it comes to almost any specific issue you can find. But when you talk about values, the big difference isn't a what. It's a who. It's who is going to solve this problem.
And when you start to look at it that way, a lot of the stereotypes and all-around nastiness just falls away. Conservatives, like me, aren't cold-hearted tightwads who want everyone else to live in poverty while they raise themselves to excessive wealth. Conservatives simply would prefer it if the task of solving problems was in the hands of the individual citizens, and not in the hands of the government. Liberals, on the other hand, aren't lazy money-grubbers who want to force you to solve all their problems. Liberals simply believe that the government is better equipped to solve the problems in America than individual citizens are.
That's how I look at all of this. That is how I look at all of us. That's how I can find the good in the people who oppose me. But this viewpoint doesn't only help you understand the people in the other camp. This viewpoint is why I can call myself a conservative and still feel free to disagree with the political party that I'm supposed to be a part of. That's how I can disagree with other conservatives.
It's my core understanding of the role of the government that makes me what I am, politically. It's the other parts of me, the religious and experienced parts, that shape my views into specific beliefs and lead me to push for specific methods to achieve specific outcomes. But, you know, I'm not the only person who can say that. Everyone should be able to say that.
It's my hope that one day, we can get to a place where we can respect those who disagree with us. I hope that one day we will look through the eyes of our enemy without a fear that it will demean or debase us. My journey to understand others didn't change my values; it made me strengthen and better understand the values I already had. It actually made me a better person.
And really, we should never be afraid of applying the teachings of Christ into our lives. Not ever.
Regards, best wishes, and the courage to understand,
-Cecily Jane
Life is getting political again. Or maybe it always is. Maybe I just manage to ignore it the rest of the time.
Anyway, I have a lot of friends that have opposing political viewpoints. I've lived in California, Utah, and Oregon, so I feel that I can say that with perfect honesty. Some of my friends agree with my political viewpoints. Some of them don't.
And you know what? That's fine. I've always thought that if everyone thinks the same way, then maybe no one is really thinking.
But that stops becoming fine when people get mean. And it seems that mean is all people get these days. I feel like there used to be a time when people could see a member of an opposing political party and still think of that person as good and moral. This time may have been before the advent of cable news. As I grew up with cable news, I'm not sure if this period of political politeness is real or myth.
But whether or not it ever existed, here's the thing: most people want the world to be better. Like, ninety nine percent of us. Most of us want to be happy, and we want our neighbors to be happy, too. We want everyone to be happy, really. Most of us don't like problems, and we'd much prefer it if those problems would go away.
Really, if you don't see people this way, I challenge you to get to know more people. I challenge you to set aside your prejudices and find someone who is very different than you, and honestly try to understand their viewpoint. It's not an easy skill to master, and most of us (like me) only develop this skill when we have to. Like when someone we love decides to step into one of those groups that we don't understand or that we despise.
This happened to me once. Well, more than once, really. But one time it happened in a way that I could not ignore. Someone that I love dearly, who I always thought was on my side, suddenly moved to the other side. And s/he did it in such a dramatic way that it ruined our very precious relationship. So, out of desperation, I decided to try to repair that relationship by any means necessary. And one of those means happened to be sitting down and trying to figure out why s/he did it. And trying to figure out how a person could do that and still be a good person.
And, in this specific case, part of the change was political. I'm a conservative. This person used to be, too, until s/he decided to adopt a staunchly liberal viewpoint. It didn't happen overnight, but it seemed to. It took me by surprise.
So, because of this and because of other aspects in our relationship, I spent a lot of time feeling betrayed. I spent a lot of time really hurt. And I'm not going to say that this was all in my head, or that I was stupid, because the truth is that my feelings were real, and they came from things that were done and said to me. But, after a while, I decided that it was time to heal. Pain gets tiresome after a while, you know? So I did something drastic: I applied the principles of the gospel of Christ and I made a sincere attempt to love my new enemy. And that included trying to understand liberalism.
And you know what I found? Pretty much everything I mentioned above. That people are good and want to world to be better. Even liberals. Because it took a lot of time and effort, but I figured out why liberals are liberal (and why conservatives are conservative). And that changed the way I looked at the people I oppose politically. Here's what I learned.
The difference between liberals and conservatives is that conservatives want to affect change via private methods (charities, private businesses, private organizations, etc.) and liberals want to affect change via public methods (government programs, etc.).
And what is the change that liberals and conservatives are trying to affect? Often it's the same. I mean, it's the same if you look at the big picture. It's not if you look at specific issues, seeing as conservatives and liberals are often at odds when it comes to almost any specific issue you can find. But when you talk about values, the big difference isn't a what. It's a who. It's who is going to solve this problem.
And when you start to look at it that way, a lot of the stereotypes and all-around nastiness just falls away. Conservatives, like me, aren't cold-hearted tightwads who want everyone else to live in poverty while they raise themselves to excessive wealth. Conservatives simply would prefer it if the task of solving problems was in the hands of the individual citizens, and not in the hands of the government. Liberals, on the other hand, aren't lazy money-grubbers who want to force you to solve all their problems. Liberals simply believe that the government is better equipped to solve the problems in America than individual citizens are.
That's how I look at all of this. That is how I look at all of us. That's how I can find the good in the people who oppose me. But this viewpoint doesn't only help you understand the people in the other camp. This viewpoint is why I can call myself a conservative and still feel free to disagree with the political party that I'm supposed to be a part of. That's how I can disagree with other conservatives.
It's my core understanding of the role of the government that makes me what I am, politically. It's the other parts of me, the religious and experienced parts, that shape my views into specific beliefs and lead me to push for specific methods to achieve specific outcomes. But, you know, I'm not the only person who can say that. Everyone should be able to say that.
It's my hope that one day, we can get to a place where we can respect those who disagree with us. I hope that one day we will look through the eyes of our enemy without a fear that it will demean or debase us. My journey to understand others didn't change my values; it made me strengthen and better understand the values I already had. It actually made me a better person.
And really, we should never be afraid of applying the teachings of Christ into our lives. Not ever.
Regards, best wishes, and the courage to understand,
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
All I Needed to Know About Men I Learned from Jane Austen, Part 6: Mr. Elton
"I never in my life saw a man more intent on being agreeable than Mr. Elton. It is downright labour to him where ladies are concerned. With men he can be rational and unaffected, but when he has ladies to please, every feature works."
-Emma, Chapter 13
My Dear Reader,
In my continuing endeavor to read twelve classics in 2014, I decided to read one of the few Jane Austen novels I hadn't gotten to yet: Emma. And you know what? Jane is still right on the money when it comes to men. (And women, really.)
A while back, I wrote a series of posts outlining the male characters in Pride and Prejudice. Today, I'm going to add an Emma entry to that collection: Mr. Elton.
In Emma, Mr. Elton is the local vicar, a man of God who is well-liked by everyone. And while Emma is not interested in any romantic endeavors for herself, when she wants to find a match for her dear friend Harriet, she thinks that Mr. Elton perfectly fits the bill. After all, Mr. Elton is liberal with his time and attention. He knows when to give compliments. He provides service at the slightest hint of a need.
Indeed, Mr. Elton is quite gallant. At least, he is if he wants something from you.
The problem is that a Mr. Elton only uses kindness as a means to an end. If he wants to you like him, he will act nice when you are around him, or when he is around people who are close to you. It is only when he is safely alone that he reverts to his usual, selfish self.
So, you may be deceived by him. Lots of people may be deceived by him, actually. But really, this guy is going out of his way to deceive you, so I don't think you should beat yourself up about it.
An Elton is distinct from other masters of deception, such as Wickhams, because Eltons manage to deceive themselves. If they had to describe themselves in one word, that word would be "gallant," or "selfless," or something like that. They might even label themselves as "heroic." Man, those Eltons put themselves on a pedestal. And when they see that you have something they want, they put you on a pedestal, too.
They praise you. They help you. They do daring deeds in order to impress you. They even do these things to your friends, because they know that you will never like someone who is mean to your friends. Everything is about getting you to like them. Everything they do is about building up an image that you will not be able to refuse.
But this can be confusing, because if he's being excessively nice to everyone, including your friends, it can be hard to tell where his true desire lies. But if you have any misconceptions about him, they will not hold for long. Eventually, he will come to claim his desire, and he will not allow you to misunderstand exactly what it is that he wants. He will do everything in his power to convince you that he deserves the object of his desire. After all, you owe him, because he's been so nice.
And if you do refuse to give him what he wants, you will be surprised at how quickly your world changes. This kind, chivalrous, pleasant person is gone. Maybe even literally. Maybe he goes somewhere else to find someone who will feed his desires. But either way, you will see a dramatic change in him. You will see, finally, the person that he really is. You will see how he despises people that can't benefit him. You will see how he views himself as better than anyone else, and how he truly believes that he can treat people badly because of how superior he thinks he is to them. And really, the worst thing that you will discover is how much he despises you. You will see that he blames you for refusing him. Because you did not give him what he wants, he has taken you off of that pedestal, and he is even now trying to crush you under his foot in any way that he can. He is only sorry that your own personal dignity is preventing him from doing more damage to you.
But if he can damage you, he will. If he can hurt your friends, he'll do that, too. But he won't do anything that will hurt his image, because after all, he still has things that he needs. So his damage to your and your friends will be limited. The real sting comes in the lack of warmth, and the realization that any previous warmth was fake. The real blow is realizing how wrong you were to trust him.
In the end, I find Mr. Elton to be a very fascinating character. I feel lucky that to date, I have never been the object of one. But I have been the friend of someone an Elton objectifies, and that is no fun at all. Lots and lots of ice cream is requisite for healing from the damage an Elton does. I'd advise you to keep your distance.
In my opinion, and in my experience, it is much better to be around someone who is honest with you, even if that honesty is not always flattering. And if you can find an honest person who also respects you, don't you ever let that person go. I think that's what Jane Austen would say, if she were still around today. That's what she was saying when she wrote Emma. Flattery is nice, but honesty and respect are far more valuable.
Regards, best wishes, and maybe a Mr. Knightly,
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
C. S. Lewis, Ayn Rand, and Love
My Dear Reader,
I think about love a lot.
Not romantic love, necessarily. Just love in general.
If you've never read C. S. Lewis's The Four Loves, I'd highly recommend it. The four loves he talks about are: brotherly/familial love, friendship, romantic love, and unconditional love. Each kind of love has its own parameters, but they are all love.
And when we talk about love, we talk a lot about selflessness. We talk about sacrifice, duty, and honor. But the more I think about it, the more I think that these might be bad descriptors of love.
And, in a weird way, some of these thoughts were inspired by the ideas in Atlas Shrugged. Not that I really like any of the romantic relationships in the novel. The way that Ayn Rand depicts all versions of love in the novel is one of the things I hate the most about the book.* But I really like the things she has to say about selflessness. It's really odd, the way Rand can do that.
Anyway, Atlas Shrugged preaches the idea that selflessness and sacrifice are amoral. But Rand also defines selflessness in a different way: as giving something up without receiving anything in return. Ever. In this context, a man who works tirelessly to achieve a goal is not sacrificing. He is paying the necessary dues in order to achieve a certain reward. A woman who goes hungry to feed her child is also not sacrificing, because she values the child more than she values herself, and is therefore giving something in exchange for a desired result.
I think that's it. I think it's that image of a woman going hungry to feed her child, and not calling it a sacrifice, that is making me think about how I define love.
True sacrifice, according to Rand, would be to let your own child starve so a stranger could live. That is what she defines as immoral, because you are giving away something you value, and getting nothing in return. Why? Because you don't value that stranger. You don't love that stranger. At least, you don't love the stranger as much as you love your child.
So if love means that you receive something when you give to someone, I guess you could say that love is inherently selfish.
Actually, you could probably say that love is selfish and selfless at the same time. But that's not a great way to say it. It's more accurate to say that love merges your well-being with the well-being of another. If you love someone, their happiness is your happiness, and their sorrow is your sorrow.
So, if you love someone, you help them in order to make them happy, because to you, it's the same as making yourself happy. Maybe it's better.
And that, to me, is what love is. Love is the merging of your self-interest with the self-interest of the person you love. They're the same to you. And the more you love a person, the more your needs and their needs share equal importance. All needs become one.
And that might be the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.
Because we are born separate and distinct individuals. But we don't want to stay that way. We want to connect with each other. We want to merge on one level or another, through our experiences, through our thoughts, and through our emotions. That's why art exists: to help us connect. That's why we're born in families and bred in communities. We hunger and thirst for this connection.
And when we find that connection, we call it love. But no two connections are really the same. You don't love your brother the way you love a friend. But that doesn't mean that there isn't a connection, a merging in both of those relationships.
So my theory is that the closer we get to the highest form of love, what C. S. Lewis calls "agape," or unconditional love, the stronger this connection gets. To the point where there is no difference between their pain and your pain; their joy and your joy. You truly pursue the happiness of the person you love, just as you would pursue that happiness for yourself. Because it's the same. Because you find equal value in both.
Maybe that's what it means to love someone as you love yourself. And maybe we shouldn't just strive to find that love with our spouses our our children. Maybe we can even have that kind of love for our neighbor. Or a stranger.
Anyway, those are my thoughts on love, for the moment. I'm sure I'll have some more thoughts another day.
But for now, I am thinking that Christ is even smarter than I ever realized.
Regards, best wishes, and agape,
-Cecily Jane
*Ayn Rand argues that a business associate should be more important to you than your family (if your family is a bunch of loafers), because a person's value is based on their ability to produce. I think that all people should be producers of some kind or another, each contributing to society in the way they can, but I detest the idea that this is the only way to determine worth. Honestly, I love a lot of the things she says, but some of her ideas are absolutely repulsive to me.
I think about love a lot.
Not romantic love, necessarily. Just love in general.
If you've never read C. S. Lewis's The Four Loves, I'd highly recommend it. The four loves he talks about are: brotherly/familial love, friendship, romantic love, and unconditional love. Each kind of love has its own parameters, but they are all love.
And when we talk about love, we talk a lot about selflessness. We talk about sacrifice, duty, and honor. But the more I think about it, the more I think that these might be bad descriptors of love.
And, in a weird way, some of these thoughts were inspired by the ideas in Atlas Shrugged. Not that I really like any of the romantic relationships in the novel. The way that Ayn Rand depicts all versions of love in the novel is one of the things I hate the most about the book.* But I really like the things she has to say about selflessness. It's really odd, the way Rand can do that.
Anyway, Atlas Shrugged preaches the idea that selflessness and sacrifice are amoral. But Rand also defines selflessness in a different way: as giving something up without receiving anything in return. Ever. In this context, a man who works tirelessly to achieve a goal is not sacrificing. He is paying the necessary dues in order to achieve a certain reward. A woman who goes hungry to feed her child is also not sacrificing, because she values the child more than she values herself, and is therefore giving something in exchange for a desired result.
I think that's it. I think it's that image of a woman going hungry to feed her child, and not calling it a sacrifice, that is making me think about how I define love.
True sacrifice, according to Rand, would be to let your own child starve so a stranger could live. That is what she defines as immoral, because you are giving away something you value, and getting nothing in return. Why? Because you don't value that stranger. You don't love that stranger. At least, you don't love the stranger as much as you love your child.
So if love means that you receive something when you give to someone, I guess you could say that love is inherently selfish.
Actually, you could probably say that love is selfish and selfless at the same time. But that's not a great way to say it. It's more accurate to say that love merges your well-being with the well-being of another. If you love someone, their happiness is your happiness, and their sorrow is your sorrow.
So, if you love someone, you help them in order to make them happy, because to you, it's the same as making yourself happy. Maybe it's better.
And that, to me, is what love is. Love is the merging of your self-interest with the self-interest of the person you love. They're the same to you. And the more you love a person, the more your needs and their needs share equal importance. All needs become one.
And that might be the most beautiful thing I've ever heard.
Because we are born separate and distinct individuals. But we don't want to stay that way. We want to connect with each other. We want to merge on one level or another, through our experiences, through our thoughts, and through our emotions. That's why art exists: to help us connect. That's why we're born in families and bred in communities. We hunger and thirst for this connection.
And when we find that connection, we call it love. But no two connections are really the same. You don't love your brother the way you love a friend. But that doesn't mean that there isn't a connection, a merging in both of those relationships.
So my theory is that the closer we get to the highest form of love, what C. S. Lewis calls "agape," or unconditional love, the stronger this connection gets. To the point where there is no difference between their pain and your pain; their joy and your joy. You truly pursue the happiness of the person you love, just as you would pursue that happiness for yourself. Because it's the same. Because you find equal value in both.
Maybe that's what it means to love someone as you love yourself. And maybe we shouldn't just strive to find that love with our spouses our our children. Maybe we can even have that kind of love for our neighbor. Or a stranger.
Anyway, those are my thoughts on love, for the moment. I'm sure I'll have some more thoughts another day.
But for now, I am thinking that Christ is even smarter than I ever realized.
Regards, best wishes, and agape,
-Cecily Jane
*Ayn Rand argues that a business associate should be more important to you than your family (if your family is a bunch of loafers), because a person's value is based on their ability to produce. I think that all people should be producers of some kind or another, each contributing to society in the way they can, but I detest the idea that this is the only way to determine worth. Honestly, I love a lot of the things she says, but some of her ideas are absolutely repulsive to me.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Modesty in Space
My Dear Reader,
Growing up in a very religious family, I was taught the importance of modesty at almost every turn. And I always thought that it was a great idea.
I'm weird, I know.
I have this theory. You know how most people have a favorite vice? I think everyone also has a favorite virtue. Modesty is mine. So when people start talking about modesty and how the very idea is shaming and degrading to young girls, well, that wasn't my experience. But, like I said, I'm weird.
A lot of my weirdness, I think, comes from the fact that along with God, Star Trek also had a big place in my life growing up. On Sundays, my family went to church together. On Mondays, we watched Star Trek together. And something the both church and Star Trek has in common? Both are very heavy on ideas. Ideas like universal equality and unconditional compassion. Concepts like agency, kindness, and honor. I got one kind of lesson from the pulpit, and another from the TV, but to me, it all seemed to be two different perspectives into one great, eternal truth. And both church and Star Trek encouraged me to find truth.
So, that was quite an education.
Of course, there was occasionally a disconnect in the message. And as much as I learned the importance of modesty on Sunday, Monday's lesson went somewhat in reverse. Star Trek is almost infamous for its basement-dwelling teenage fanbase, and though it's not very accurate, you wouldn't know it by the way the characters were dressed. Star Trek is as show about people in uniforms, and yet in almost every incarnation of the franchise, they manage to have at least one woman wearing a skin-tight body suit. Sometimes for no real reason. It's just for those basement-dwellers who supposedly will never have a relationship with a real girl, so this fictional one has been provided. Fantasize away, pimply fanboys!*
One of these catsuit-wearing female characters was Seven of Nine, a character from Star Trek: Voyager who was portrayed by Jeri Ryan, who described being "poured" into that suit, it was that tight. Kate Mulgrew, who played Captain Janeway (my personal hero) on the same show, said:
And though I still loved the show, I always rolled my eyes when Seven of Nine came on screen. I saw her as a pointless character. I knew she was being used and I felt used just watching her.
But a funny thing happened when a rewatched the series a few years later. I was in college then, and had a few more years of experience under my belt. I had taken courses on literature and had learned how to look at stories critically. And when I watched Voyager again, I saw Seven of Nine with brand new eyes. I saw past her apparel and into her storyline. I discovered, to my own amazement, that I had found one of the best characters I had ever seen in any show, book, or movie. Her story is one of healing from abuse and betrayal, of repentance, redemption, and love.
But no one ever talks about that.
No one ever talks about Seven of Nine, who was abducted as a child and indoctrinated into an oppressive culture where she was no longer an individual, but a cog in a great and terrible machine of destruction. No one talks about how she is rescued from this machine and offered a chance to reclaim her humanity. No one talks about the people who show her a love and devotion she has not deserved, patiently teaching her how to regain her agency even as she promises to betray them. And no one talks about Seven's eventual success, and how she casts off the shackles of oppression and pain and becomes her own person.
Well, I mean the show talks about it. A lot. It's just that people are too distracted by the catsuit to notice.
And that, I think, is what is missing from the argument for modesty. So many who oppose modesty say that a woman has a right to express herself, and that is true. They say that it is not a woman's burden to control the thoughts of others, and that is true. But what Seven of Nine taught me is that dressing in a way meant to display your sexuality does not express who you are.
It hides you.
It camouflages you.
It allows you to masquerade as an object instead of a person.
And while it doesn't change your worth, and it doesn't make it okay for people to mistreat you, it changes how people see you.
And maybe it changes how you see yourself.
Dressing without to respect for yourself is like strapping raw beef to your thighs and jumping into piranha-infested waters. I guess it's your choice, but it's not a smart choice. Human nature is human nature, choices have consequences, and you have to be careful. You have to protect yourself.
And there's another lesson I learned here: I was wrong. I was wrong to judge someone's value by what they wore. I was immature and shallow. Church and Star Trek taught me to respect people, to see beyond the surface and try to find a friend. I was taught not to look on the outward appearance, but to look on the heart. But I guess I didn't learn those lessons well enough. I guess that in a better world, it wouldn't matter what we wear, because it wouldn't distract people from who we are.
And maybe we need to start making that better world right now. Maybe the destructive parts of human nature need to be cast aside and forgotten.
Maybe we can teach children (not just girls) about modesty in a way that makes them feel empowered instead of ashamed. It is empowering to have the ability to choose how people see you. It is empowering to be able to see people as valuable, despite their appearance. We have to learn to use these powers wisely. We have to understand that people make bad choices sometimes, and you have to account for that. But we also have to be better in order to make the world better.
Because despite Jeri Ryan's success, despite her beautiful portrayal of a complicated character and the many roles she has taken since then, despite the fact that she is a genuine, caring person*, people still ask her about that darn catsuit. More than ten years later, people are still treating her like a cog in the machine of corporate sexuality. There is more than one thing wrong with that.
In the end, I'm glad that I had the opportunity to learn truth from more than one source. I'm grateful that I was given the chance to find my own lessons. Most of all, I treasure the ability I have to think for myself. To act for myself. Because that's the real goal of modesty, right? To be free from objectification? To be free to be your true self?
I think so.
Best wishes, regards, and kindness,
-Cecily Jane
P.S. This is really just one facet of modesty. Here's another post with a different perspective that I also agree with. It's pretty genius, actually.
P. P.S. I couldn't make this argument in the post because it's long enough as it is, but I tried to hint at it: this thinking is not only degrading to women. It's also degrading to the male viewer, because it not only is the female character being sold as an object, but the male viewer is being enticed to buy an object. Both parties are being manipulated and degraded. Both parties deserve better.
*I base this on her Twitter profile. She is awesome.
Growing up in a very religious family, I was taught the importance of modesty at almost every turn. And I always thought that it was a great idea.
I'm weird, I know.
I have this theory. You know how most people have a favorite vice? I think everyone also has a favorite virtue. Modesty is mine. So when people start talking about modesty and how the very idea is shaming and degrading to young girls, well, that wasn't my experience. But, like I said, I'm weird.
A lot of my weirdness, I think, comes from the fact that along with God, Star Trek also had a big place in my life growing up. On Sundays, my family went to church together. On Mondays, we watched Star Trek together. And something the both church and Star Trek has in common? Both are very heavy on ideas. Ideas like universal equality and unconditional compassion. Concepts like agency, kindness, and honor. I got one kind of lesson from the pulpit, and another from the TV, but to me, it all seemed to be two different perspectives into one great, eternal truth. And both church and Star Trek encouraged me to find truth.
So, that was quite an education.
Of course, there was occasionally a disconnect in the message. And as much as I learned the importance of modesty on Sunday, Monday's lesson went somewhat in reverse. Star Trek is almost infamous for its basement-dwelling teenage fanbase, and though it's not very accurate, you wouldn't know it by the way the characters were dressed. Star Trek is as show about people in uniforms, and yet in almost every incarnation of the franchise, they manage to have at least one woman wearing a skin-tight body suit. Sometimes for no real reason. It's just for those basement-dwellers who supposedly will never have a relationship with a real girl, so this fictional one has been provided. Fantasize away, pimply fanboys!*
One of these catsuit-wearing female characters was Seven of Nine, a character from Star Trek: Voyager who was portrayed by Jeri Ryan, who described being "poured" into that suit, it was that tight. Kate Mulgrew, who played Captain Janeway (my personal hero) on the same show, said:
I found that that was hard, Jeri notwithstanding. Certainly, I could see with my own eyes that she was a va-va-va-voom and beautiful-beautiful bombshell of a girl. Sexuality was brought into Voyager, and that’s what I resented. I chose not to use sexuality. I thought that if Paramount and UPN and Rick (Berman) were being exceptionally prescient and brave, they would give a woman a shot at commanding without sex. “Can we do this without sex?” There are always other ways. So I resented that and I was hurt by the immediate, extraordinary attention given to this character. The numbers went up. And I thought, “Ah, you can’t argue with a business decision and you can’t argue with sex.” That’s just part of life, but all of that is very difficult for a woman, particularly an actress like me. But it had nothing to do with Jeri.And yeah, it was pretty obvious that that's what they were going for. I mean, that costume was ridiculous. But it worked, because ratings went up 60%. And when this was on the air in 1997, I was a very, very annoyed teenage girl. I had always looked to Star Trek for powerful female role models, which were in short supply back then (some would argue they still are). At church, I was taught that women are divine beings, equal in the eyes of God and important instruments in His plan. Star Trek was one of the few places where I could actually see that in action. Well, kind of. Until they needed a boost in viewership. Then, they would take a woman and use her as eye candy. Then, her value didn't come from her choices or actions, but from what fans could fantasize doing with her. I guess women in the future are only equal when the ratings are good.
And though I still loved the show, I always rolled my eyes when Seven of Nine came on screen. I saw her as a pointless character. I knew she was being used and I felt used just watching her.
But a funny thing happened when a rewatched the series a few years later. I was in college then, and had a few more years of experience under my belt. I had taken courses on literature and had learned how to look at stories critically. And when I watched Voyager again, I saw Seven of Nine with brand new eyes. I saw past her apparel and into her storyline. I discovered, to my own amazement, that I had found one of the best characters I had ever seen in any show, book, or movie. Her story is one of healing from abuse and betrayal, of repentance, redemption, and love.
But no one ever talks about that.
No one ever talks about Seven of Nine, who was abducted as a child and indoctrinated into an oppressive culture where she was no longer an individual, but a cog in a great and terrible machine of destruction. No one talks about how she is rescued from this machine and offered a chance to reclaim her humanity. No one talks about the people who show her a love and devotion she has not deserved, patiently teaching her how to regain her agency even as she promises to betray them. And no one talks about Seven's eventual success, and how she casts off the shackles of oppression and pain and becomes her own person.
Well, I mean the show talks about it. A lot. It's just that people are too distracted by the catsuit to notice.
And that, I think, is what is missing from the argument for modesty. So many who oppose modesty say that a woman has a right to express herself, and that is true. They say that it is not a woman's burden to control the thoughts of others, and that is true. But what Seven of Nine taught me is that dressing in a way meant to display your sexuality does not express who you are.
It hides you.
It camouflages you.
It allows you to masquerade as an object instead of a person.
And while it doesn't change your worth, and it doesn't make it okay for people to mistreat you, it changes how people see you.
And maybe it changes how you see yourself.
Dressing without to respect for yourself is like strapping raw beef to your thighs and jumping into piranha-infested waters. I guess it's your choice, but it's not a smart choice. Human nature is human nature, choices have consequences, and you have to be careful. You have to protect yourself.
And there's another lesson I learned here: I was wrong. I was wrong to judge someone's value by what they wore. I was immature and shallow. Church and Star Trek taught me to respect people, to see beyond the surface and try to find a friend. I was taught not to look on the outward appearance, but to look on the heart. But I guess I didn't learn those lessons well enough. I guess that in a better world, it wouldn't matter what we wear, because it wouldn't distract people from who we are.
And maybe we need to start making that better world right now. Maybe the destructive parts of human nature need to be cast aside and forgotten.
Maybe we can teach children (not just girls) about modesty in a way that makes them feel empowered instead of ashamed. It is empowering to have the ability to choose how people see you. It is empowering to be able to see people as valuable, despite their appearance. We have to learn to use these powers wisely. We have to understand that people make bad choices sometimes, and you have to account for that. But we also have to be better in order to make the world better.
Because despite Jeri Ryan's success, despite her beautiful portrayal of a complicated character and the many roles she has taken since then, despite the fact that she is a genuine, caring person*, people still ask her about that darn catsuit. More than ten years later, people are still treating her like a cog in the machine of corporate sexuality. There is more than one thing wrong with that.
In the end, I'm glad that I had the opportunity to learn truth from more than one source. I'm grateful that I was given the chance to find my own lessons. Most of all, I treasure the ability I have to think for myself. To act for myself. Because that's the real goal of modesty, right? To be free from objectification? To be free to be your true self?
I think so.
Best wishes, regards, and kindness,
-Cecily Jane
P.S. This is really just one facet of modesty. Here's another post with a different perspective that I also agree with. It's pretty genius, actually.
P. P.S. I couldn't make this argument in the post because it's long enough as it is, but I tried to hint at it: this thinking is not only degrading to women. It's also degrading to the male viewer, because it not only is the female character being sold as an object, but the male viewer is being enticed to buy an object. Both parties are being manipulated and degraded. Both parties deserve better.
*I base this on her Twitter profile. She is awesome.
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
The Year Is Dying, In the Night
My Dear Reader,
The year 2013 it at an end! This is the last day of it! Man, what a year this has been.
And really, considering it bears the dreaded thirteen, the year has not been so disastrous as it could have been. I mean, it's been a little disastrous, but fire and brimstone has yet to rain down on us, so I'm pleasantly surprised.
I find that it's the time between Christmas and New Year's that we reflect on the previous twelve months and all that we've accomplished in that time. In January, I made a lot of resolutions, because I had a strong desire to use this year to make myself a better person.
And I didn't accomplish all of them. But my big resolution? Reading 10 Classics is 2013? That beast has been conquered, my friend!
In fact, I might have read thirteen classics in 2013. Depending on what you see as a classic, I mean. Some of them were short. But one of them was Atlas Shrugged, which is probably the longest book I've ever read. And I read fantasy books on occasion.
I am a person who has read Atlas Shrugged. I feel like I earned a title. I feel like I should now be introduced as Cecily, Who Has Actually Read Atlas Shrugged. (That has a nice ring to it.) It wasn't that bad of a book, either. I didn't agree with everything, but I agreed with some things. It's one of those life-changing experiences.
But then, every classic I read is something of a life-changing experience. I think that's why they're classics. Some of them are hard to get through. But I think that there are certain stories that last because they have this special power to change you. There are some books that have changed the world.
And that's what I look for when I'm reading a book. I want to go into someone else's world and see through their eyes, and then come out and see my own world through a new perspective. I want to find truth and meaning. And that's something I found this year.
So, I'm going to do it again next year. I'm going to go for twelve books this time; one for every month. And I will occasionally blog about these books. I'm going to start out with Jane Eyre and Emma, two stories that I have seen multiple times (in movie form), but that I have never read. And like last year, I'm also going to read at least one book that intimidated me because of its length. It's either going to be Anna Karenina or War and Peace. But it might be both. We'll see.
But you know what, Gentle Reader? I'd like to invite you to do it with me. You don't have to read the same books that I read, or the amount of books that I read, but I'd like to challenge you to pick up a classic or two and see what it can teach you. You might find yourself on a grand adventure.
And everyone could use a grand adventure. Or two.
In the mean time, I'll be reading twelve classics in 2014. Wish me luck!
Regards, best wishes, and thrilling tales,
-Cecily Jane, Who Has Actually Read Atlas Shrugged
The year 2013 it at an end! This is the last day of it! Man, what a year this has been.
And really, considering it bears the dreaded thirteen, the year has not been so disastrous as it could have been. I mean, it's been a little disastrous, but fire and brimstone has yet to rain down on us, so I'm pleasantly surprised.
I find that it's the time between Christmas and New Year's that we reflect on the previous twelve months and all that we've accomplished in that time. In January, I made a lot of resolutions, because I had a strong desire to use this year to make myself a better person.
And I didn't accomplish all of them. But my big resolution? Reading 10 Classics is 2013? That beast has been conquered, my friend!
In fact, I might have read thirteen classics in 2013. Depending on what you see as a classic, I mean. Some of them were short. But one of them was Atlas Shrugged, which is probably the longest book I've ever read. And I read fantasy books on occasion.
I am a person who has read Atlas Shrugged. I feel like I earned a title. I feel like I should now be introduced as Cecily, Who Has Actually Read Atlas Shrugged. (That has a nice ring to it.) It wasn't that bad of a book, either. I didn't agree with everything, but I agreed with some things. It's one of those life-changing experiences.
But then, every classic I read is something of a life-changing experience. I think that's why they're classics. Some of them are hard to get through. But I think that there are certain stories that last because they have this special power to change you. There are some books that have changed the world.
And that's what I look for when I'm reading a book. I want to go into someone else's world and see through their eyes, and then come out and see my own world through a new perspective. I want to find truth and meaning. And that's something I found this year.
So, I'm going to do it again next year. I'm going to go for twelve books this time; one for every month. And I will occasionally blog about these books. I'm going to start out with Jane Eyre and Emma, two stories that I have seen multiple times (in movie form), but that I have never read. And like last year, I'm also going to read at least one book that intimidated me because of its length. It's either going to be Anna Karenina or War and Peace. But it might be both. We'll see.
But you know what, Gentle Reader? I'd like to invite you to do it with me. You don't have to read the same books that I read, or the amount of books that I read, but I'd like to challenge you to pick up a classic or two and see what it can teach you. You might find yourself on a grand adventure.
And everyone could use a grand adventure. Or two.
In the mean time, I'll be reading twelve classics in 2014. Wish me luck!
Regards, best wishes, and thrilling tales,
-Cecily Jane, Who Has Actually Read Atlas Shrugged
Saturday, December 28, 2013
Out with the Old, In with the New
My Dear Reader,
As this year is wrapping up, I find myself in the middle of a lot of drastic changes. Changes that are difficult for me to handle, that have put me on an emotional roller coaster. To summarize:
Luckily for me, my grandpa lives two miles away from my office, and he'll take me in for free. He's been on his own since my grandmother died, so it's a win-win situation. And, you know, with the cost of insurance and maintenance, I'm thinking that I'm just going to go without a car for a while. Maybe for a whole year.
And that's kind of scary, too. I'm kind of terrified.
I really like the place where I live. I like the people I live with. I like the people I go to church with. And it feels like the moment my transmission went out, all of the things I love most about life went right a long with it. A lot of the things I've worked really hard for. A lot of my freedom.
But, at the same time, I can't say that I haven't been thinking about leaving. I've known for a while that I've needed a change. I've become less and less satisfied with things, and I didn't really know what those things were. But maybe I've just been here too long. Maybe I've already done everything I've needed to do here. Maybe it's time to do something somewhere else. But there are still so many good things here (and good people) that I don't want to leave.
I really, really don't want to leave. But this is the only choice that makes any sense. I'm lucky that I have any choices at all.
I'm planning on moving by the end of this week. I've got everything set up; I just need to actually do it. And I can't get myself to start packing. I just sit there and look at all my stuff and feel like this is happening so, so fast, and I don't know how I'm going to do it all. I don't know if taking the bus everywhere is going to work out. I don't know what to do with my broken-down car. I don't know if I'm going to like the people I'm going to go to church with. Usually, when I move, I have a lot of time to think about these things. Now, I just have a few days. I feels like I'm taking a big leap in the dark.
It's like I have these two competing sides to me, one of which loves spontaneity and change, and the other that has a hard time letting things go. I keep telling myself that this is good for me, that this is an adventure that I need in order to grow. I keep telling myself that my friends are always going to be here, even if it's a little harder for me to get to them.
And as a person with Clinical Depression™, I have to constantly remind myself that people really do care about me, and that they'll still care about me if I live on the other side of town.
And maybe that's what I'm scared of most of all. Maybe I'm scared that if I leave, no one will care about me anymore.
And there's a logical part of me that knows that it's not true. It knows that I have friends. It makes sense. It sees reality for what it is.
But it's not the part of me that feels. And it's the feeling part of me that is having such a hard time. It's the feeling part of me that is telling me that I'm all alone.
When I made the decision to leave, the feeling part of me expected no one to notice. It thought that I would just fade away, like dust in the wind. It feels like I have faded away along time ago. But the moment I started looking for someone to take my room, I have had an avalanche of attention that I didn't expect. People texting and messaging me at all hours to see if it was true. To see if I needed any help. To see if I will still be around.
And when things like that happen, the thinking and the feeling parts of me get together, and the thinking part says, "See? Don't you see? How can you deny this proof?"
And the feeling part of me says, "I can deny anything I wish, because I am too afraid to open my eyes and see for myself."
I'm still learning how to control the feeling part of me. I'm still learning how to believe that people care about me, because some days, that still seems like an impossible thing. But maybe that's the reason I'm going through all of this. Maybe it's time for me to open my eyes to a new kind of truth. Maybe it's time for me to start believing.
Maybe it's okay to start putting things in boxes.
But maybe I'll wait until tomorrow.
It's going to work out. One way or another, it's going to work out. I'm going to be okay.
It's just going to be hard for the next couple of weeks. But I'm strong. I can handle it.
I can handle anything.
Regards, best wishes, and faith,
-Cecily Jane
As this year is wrapping up, I find myself in the middle of a lot of drastic changes. Changes that are difficult for me to handle, that have put me on an emotional roller coaster. To summarize:
- My car broke down, which it has done three Decembers in a row
- I am sick of my car breaking down
- I can't fix my car, and since the transmission is dead, I'm not going to get any money from it
- I got into debt fixing my car the last two times
- I am sick of being in debt
- I can't get to work without a car, as public transportation is not close enough to where I live
Therefore, the only logical solution is: - I need to move somewhere closer to work and save some money.
Luckily for me, my grandpa lives two miles away from my office, and he'll take me in for free. He's been on his own since my grandmother died, so it's a win-win situation. And, you know, with the cost of insurance and maintenance, I'm thinking that I'm just going to go without a car for a while. Maybe for a whole year.
And that's kind of scary, too. I'm kind of terrified.
I really like the place where I live. I like the people I live with. I like the people I go to church with. And it feels like the moment my transmission went out, all of the things I love most about life went right a long with it. A lot of the things I've worked really hard for. A lot of my freedom.
But, at the same time, I can't say that I haven't been thinking about leaving. I've known for a while that I've needed a change. I've become less and less satisfied with things, and I didn't really know what those things were. But maybe I've just been here too long. Maybe I've already done everything I've needed to do here. Maybe it's time to do something somewhere else. But there are still so many good things here (and good people) that I don't want to leave.
I really, really don't want to leave. But this is the only choice that makes any sense. I'm lucky that I have any choices at all.
I'm planning on moving by the end of this week. I've got everything set up; I just need to actually do it. And I can't get myself to start packing. I just sit there and look at all my stuff and feel like this is happening so, so fast, and I don't know how I'm going to do it all. I don't know if taking the bus everywhere is going to work out. I don't know what to do with my broken-down car. I don't know if I'm going to like the people I'm going to go to church with. Usually, when I move, I have a lot of time to think about these things. Now, I just have a few days. I feels like I'm taking a big leap in the dark.
It's like I have these two competing sides to me, one of which loves spontaneity and change, and the other that has a hard time letting things go. I keep telling myself that this is good for me, that this is an adventure that I need in order to grow. I keep telling myself that my friends are always going to be here, even if it's a little harder for me to get to them.
And as a person with Clinical Depression™, I have to constantly remind myself that people really do care about me, and that they'll still care about me if I live on the other side of town.
And maybe that's what I'm scared of most of all. Maybe I'm scared that if I leave, no one will care about me anymore.
And there's a logical part of me that knows that it's not true. It knows that I have friends. It makes sense. It sees reality for what it is.
But it's not the part of me that feels. And it's the feeling part of me that is having such a hard time. It's the feeling part of me that is telling me that I'm all alone.
When I made the decision to leave, the feeling part of me expected no one to notice. It thought that I would just fade away, like dust in the wind. It feels like I have faded away along time ago. But the moment I started looking for someone to take my room, I have had an avalanche of attention that I didn't expect. People texting and messaging me at all hours to see if it was true. To see if I needed any help. To see if I will still be around.
And when things like that happen, the thinking and the feeling parts of me get together, and the thinking part says, "See? Don't you see? How can you deny this proof?"
And the feeling part of me says, "I can deny anything I wish, because I am too afraid to open my eyes and see for myself."
I'm still learning how to control the feeling part of me. I'm still learning how to believe that people care about me, because some days, that still seems like an impossible thing. But maybe that's the reason I'm going through all of this. Maybe it's time for me to open my eyes to a new kind of truth. Maybe it's time for me to start believing.
Maybe it's okay to start putting things in boxes.
But maybe I'll wait until tomorrow.
It's going to work out. One way or another, it's going to work out. I'm going to be okay.
It's just going to be hard for the next couple of weeks. But I'm strong. I can handle it.
I can handle anything.
Regards, best wishes, and faith,
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, September 10, 2013
Group Texting Is THE WORST
My Dear Reader,
Group texting is THE WORST.
Why, you ask?
Because people have no idea how to properly use it.
Group texting, while not inherently evil, is a tool. But it's not like a screwdriver or a crowbar. It's more like a jackhammer. After all, when my phone is on vibrate, they make the same exact sound.
I can't take it any more, my Gentle Reader. I can't take the random texts at 1 AM from unknown numbers responding to a text I received yesterday. No more! The line must be drawn here, no further!
And this week, I'm not going to go into a personal story about how I learned a life lesson. This week, I'm just getting to the point.
Group texting is okay if:
Group texting is not okay if:
Before group texting, ask yourself the following questions:
Do not respond to a group text (or turn your data off before responding) if:
So there you have it, Gentle Reader. A comprehensive guide. Think of all of the awkwardness and accidental oversharing you and I can now prevent. Think of all of the people whose phone number is not dispensed to a random selection of strangers. Think of the people who will actually get to sleep through the night and make it to work on time.
We can use these rules and make this world a far less annoying place.
Regards, best wishes, and the power is yours,
-Cecily Jane
Group texting is THE WORST.
Why, you ask?
Because people have no idea how to properly use it.
Group texting, while not inherently evil, is a tool. But it's not like a screwdriver or a crowbar. It's more like a jackhammer. After all, when my phone is on vibrate, they make the same exact sound.
I can't take it any more, my Gentle Reader. I can't take the random texts at 1 AM from unknown numbers responding to a text I received yesterday. No more! The line must be drawn here, no further!
And this week, I'm not going to go into a personal story about how I learned a life lesson. This week, I'm just getting to the point.
Rules for Group Texting, Or How to Not Annoy Everyone You Know
Group texting is okay if:
- you are initiating a conversation within a small group of people who all have smart phones, unlimited data plans, and already know and like each other
- that's it; there's no other reason to group text
Group texting is not okay if:
- you are sending a large blast of information to everyone in your phone book who might be interested
- you are sending a text that only requires people to respond to you, and not to each other
- there is one or more person in your send list who does not have the phone number of another person or persons on your send list
- there is one or more person in your send list who does not know or does not like another person or persons in your send list
- there is one or more person in your send list who is out of data for the month
- it is before 9 AM or after 9 PM (in each recipient's respective time zone), unless you are certain that everyone on your send list is awake and will be for at least two more hours (if someone on your send list is a slow responder/not constantly glued to their phone, wait at least five hours before you know people will go to bed) (this is a longstanding rule of phone etiquette that you should have learned by third grade)
Before group texting, ask yourself the following questions:
- Can all of the people in my send list fit comfortably around my kitchen table?
- If they were around my kitchen table, would there be a lot of awkward silence and/or would I have to introduce everybody?
- Do all of the people in my send list need to know the responses of every other person in my send list?
- Is everyone in my send list usually awake and available for at least two more hours?
- Can all of the people in my send list use their data to accept my text and its various responses?
Do not respond to a group text (or turn your data off before responding) if:
- you are not sure who the text was sent to
- you can see who it was sent to, and there are numbers you don't recognize
- it is before 9 AM or after 9 PM (in each recipient's respective time zone)
- you wouldn't feel comfortable shouting your response through a megaphone in Times Square
So there you have it, Gentle Reader. A comprehensive guide. Think of all of the awkwardness and accidental oversharing you and I can now prevent. Think of all of the people whose phone number is not dispensed to a random selection of strangers. Think of the people who will actually get to sleep through the night and make it to work on time.
We can use these rules and make this world a far less annoying place.
Regards, best wishes, and the power is yours,
-Cecily Jane
Tuesday, August 27, 2013
Yelp and the Power of Proactive Positivity
My Dear Reader,
I like saying nice things to people.
And I don't know If you've picked up on this, but I like books a lot. (I've tried to be subtle.)
You know what else I like? Independent book stores. So I'm going to say some nice things about those for a bit.
You have to understand that I'm a capitalist. I don't hate businesses based on their size. The computer I'm writing this post on is made by one of the bigger businesses out there, and I'm so glad that so many people were employed in order to get this computer to me. Truly.
But here's the thing: independent bookstores are better.
The reason is actually very simple. Big bookstores are typically staffed by people who are just there to get a paycheck while they're trying to find something better. Independent bookstores are staffed by people who love the living daylights out of books.
And if you buy books based on its ranking on the New York Times Best Sellers List (not a bad start), you're probably okay in a big store. You're also okay if you already know what you want.
But what if you go into a bookstore looking for an adventure? What if you step through that front door in the hopes of a grand discovery? Who will help you on your quest?
Probably not the kind of kid who just started last week. I mean, maybe, but probably not. And they do have algorithms out there, but I have yet to find one that can match the expertise of a bookstore owner.
Because you don't run your own bookstore unless you know a boatload or two about books. You don't make it your career unless it's your calling.
And that's why I love independent bookstores. Any literary experience so much better when a person of expert passion is involved. I know that I can go through those doors and emerge with something exciting and unexpected. Not to mention that used books tend to be a lot cheaper, and I could read myself out of house and home if I wasn't careful.
So, you can imagine how excited I was to find a new bookstore near my workplace. Like most bookstores, I entered and immediately felt that I belonged. And when I complimented the owner on her establishment, she said something interesting to me:
"You know," she said, "if you look up local bookstores online, we won't show up. Do you think you could give us a review on Yelp.com? Every time we get a review, we become more visible."
And since I occasionally work at a small cafe, I definitely can understand why a Yelp review is so important. When you don't have the cash to hire Sofía Vergara to promote your product, Yelp is pretty much your best option.
But here's the problem about Yelp: people usually only bother to review things when they have something bad to say.
But I'm not like that. As previously stated, I like saying nice things to people.
(By the way, you are doing an awesome job at reading this post.)
And, you know, if we can go online and say nice things about the businesses we love, maybe more people will find them. Maybe our proactive positivity can keep small bookstores around for the next generation of bookworms.
And if you're not into bookstores,we can no longer be friends that's okay. Proactive positivity can apply to diners, record stores, vintage clothing stores, and pretty much any place that you want to keep around.
Because if you have something nice to say, you should say it. Right? Because we all need a little niceness in our lives. We all need the support of others in order to succeed. This is a great, easy way to bring a little goodness into the world.
And especially my world, because if bookstores all vanish and I have to read all of my books on my phone, I might just cry.
Regards, best wishes, and you don't want to see me when I cry as it involves whale noises,
-Cecily Jane
P.S. I have two independent bookstores that I really love: Another Read Through in Portland and Escape Fiction in Salem. I know a lot of you aren't Oregon locals, so go ahead and leave some of your own recommendations in the comments!
I like saying nice things to people.
And I don't know If you've picked up on this, but I like books a lot. (I've tried to be subtle.)
You know what else I like? Independent book stores. So I'm going to say some nice things about those for a bit.
You have to understand that I'm a capitalist. I don't hate businesses based on their size. The computer I'm writing this post on is made by one of the bigger businesses out there, and I'm so glad that so many people were employed in order to get this computer to me. Truly.
But here's the thing: independent bookstores are better.
The reason is actually very simple. Big bookstores are typically staffed by people who are just there to get a paycheck while they're trying to find something better. Independent bookstores are staffed by people who love the living daylights out of books.
And if you buy books based on its ranking on the New York Times Best Sellers List (not a bad start), you're probably okay in a big store. You're also okay if you already know what you want.
But what if you go into a bookstore looking for an adventure? What if you step through that front door in the hopes of a grand discovery? Who will help you on your quest?
Probably not the kind of kid who just started last week. I mean, maybe, but probably not. And they do have algorithms out there, but I have yet to find one that can match the expertise of a bookstore owner.
Because you don't run your own bookstore unless you know a boatload or two about books. You don't make it your career unless it's your calling.
And that's why I love independent bookstores. Any literary experience so much better when a person of expert passion is involved. I know that I can go through those doors and emerge with something exciting and unexpected. Not to mention that used books tend to be a lot cheaper, and I could read myself out of house and home if I wasn't careful.
So, you can imagine how excited I was to find a new bookstore near my workplace. Like most bookstores, I entered and immediately felt that I belonged. And when I complimented the owner on her establishment, she said something interesting to me:
"You know," she said, "if you look up local bookstores online, we won't show up. Do you think you could give us a review on Yelp.com? Every time we get a review, we become more visible."
And since I occasionally work at a small cafe, I definitely can understand why a Yelp review is so important. When you don't have the cash to hire Sofía Vergara to promote your product, Yelp is pretty much your best option.
But here's the problem about Yelp: people usually only bother to review things when they have something bad to say.
But I'm not like that. As previously stated, I like saying nice things to people.
(By the way, you are doing an awesome job at reading this post.)
And, you know, if we can go online and say nice things about the businesses we love, maybe more people will find them. Maybe our proactive positivity can keep small bookstores around for the next generation of bookworms.
And if you're not into bookstores,
Because if you have something nice to say, you should say it. Right? Because we all need a little niceness in our lives. We all need the support of others in order to succeed. This is a great, easy way to bring a little goodness into the world.
And especially my world, because if bookstores all vanish and I have to read all of my books on my phone, I might just cry.
Regards, best wishes, and you don't want to see me when I cry as it involves whale noises,
-Cecily Jane
P.S. I have two independent bookstores that I really love: Another Read Through in Portland and Escape Fiction in Salem. I know a lot of you aren't Oregon locals, so go ahead and leave some of your own recommendations in the comments!
Tuesday, August 13, 2013
Let Us Oft Speak Kind Words to Each Other
My Dear Reader,
When I was a girl, a particularly terrifying middle-aged woman from church told me that holding back compliments was a sin. Something about pride and whatnot. At the time, when I was already bombarded with warnings of all kinds of other sins to worry about, this was horrifying. No way the devil was going to take hold of me just because I forgot to tell Judy that her hair looked nice.
No. Way.
I don't know why that idea stuck in my brain, except that the deliverer is someone who used to stalk my nightmares.* But it did. And while I don't know if I ever truly believed that it was a sin, I maintain that withholding compliments is a bad idea.
That's why I have a policy that's like Thumper's rule, but in reverse. Thumper said, "If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all."
I say that if you can say something nice, you should say it.
The reason is simply that people need positive reinforcement. People need to know that the good they bring into the world does not go unnoticed. We need to know that even though life is discouraging, and even though we often fail, every once in a while we manage to do something right. Even if we do that something by accident.
And while we can often see the good that others do, we often can't see how other people struggle. Self-doubt is rampant, toxic, and mostly invisible. We have a grand opportunity to combat this great stumbling block—just by being kind.
It's an opportunity similar to the one that presented itself years ago at Girl's Camp, when a fellow camper sought me out to say that I had done a great job on a routine a group of us had performed. A small gesture, to be sure, unless you consider the fact that I was a stranger entering a tight-knit group of friends, and that I'd spent the whole week feeling like an outcast. That girl has probably forgotten all about what she did, but I will never forget how it felt to realize that I mattered at a time when I felt worthless and forgotten. Never.
And the truth is that you never really know what people are going through. You never really know what pain or fear they are trying to hide. And you never really know how much a kind word can mean to somebody who needs kindness.
And, really we all need kindness.
So why would you want to miss an opportunity to make that kind of an impact?
And sure, it's not an easy habit to form. I can tell you from experience that it is often scary or awkward. Sometimes you'll even find that the compliment is rejected or dismissed. But the times you fall flat are worth the times when you make a difference. As long as you are honest and sincere, you will have those moments. You will even witness miracles.
So if you have something nice to say, why don't you say it?
I'm sure Thumper would approve.
Regards, best wishes, and you are truly the best,
-Cecily Jane
*I had to endure, with alarming frequency, harsh lectures from her that sometimes lasted up to fifteen minutes and often drew a crowd. I survived by employing strategic eye rolling or singing songs in my head. Though I was a little rambunctious at that age (Mormon church is three hours long, and I have never been good at sitting still), I doubt that any kid would deserve that kind of treatment. Luckily, I have the chance to not be like that.
When I was a girl, a particularly terrifying middle-aged woman from church told me that holding back compliments was a sin. Something about pride and whatnot. At the time, when I was already bombarded with warnings of all kinds of other sins to worry about, this was horrifying. No way the devil was going to take hold of me just because I forgot to tell Judy that her hair looked nice.
No. Way.
I don't know why that idea stuck in my brain, except that the deliverer is someone who used to stalk my nightmares.* But it did. And while I don't know if I ever truly believed that it was a sin, I maintain that withholding compliments is a bad idea.
That's why I have a policy that's like Thumper's rule, but in reverse. Thumper said, "If you can't say something nice, don't say nothing at all."
I say that if you can say something nice, you should say it.
The reason is simply that people need positive reinforcement. People need to know that the good they bring into the world does not go unnoticed. We need to know that even though life is discouraging, and even though we often fail, every once in a while we manage to do something right. Even if we do that something by accident.
And while we can often see the good that others do, we often can't see how other people struggle. Self-doubt is rampant, toxic, and mostly invisible. We have a grand opportunity to combat this great stumbling block—
It's an opportunity similar to the one that presented itself years ago at Girl's Camp, when a fellow camper sought me out to say that I had done a great job on a routine a group of us had performed. A small gesture, to be sure, unless you consider the fact that I was a stranger entering a tight-knit group of friends, and that I'd spent the whole week feeling like an outcast. That girl has probably forgotten all about what she did, but I will never forget how it felt to realize that I mattered at a time when I felt worthless and forgotten. Never.
And the truth is that you never really know what people are going through. You never really know what pain or fear they are trying to hide. And you never really know how much a kind word can mean to somebody who needs kindness.
And, really we all need kindness.
So why would you want to miss an opportunity to make that kind of an impact?
And sure, it's not an easy habit to form. I can tell you from experience that it is often scary or awkward. Sometimes you'll even find that the compliment is rejected or dismissed. But the times you fall flat are worth the times when you make a difference. As long as you are honest and sincere, you will have those moments. You will even witness miracles.
So if you have something nice to say, why don't you say it?
I'm sure Thumper would approve.
Regards, best wishes, and you are truly the best,
-Cecily Jane
*I had to endure, with alarming frequency, harsh lectures from her that sometimes lasted up to fifteen minutes and often drew a crowd. I survived by employing strategic eye rolling or singing songs in my head. Though I was a little rambunctious at that age (Mormon church is three hours long, and I have never been good at sitting still), I doubt that any kid would deserve that kind of treatment. Luckily, I have the chance to not be like that.
Tuesday, August 6, 2013
Pay No Attention to That Man Behind the Curtain!
One of the great things about reading a children's book as
an adult is the way a tale that merely entertained you years ago can suddenly become
incredibly meaningful. Once you have been taught to look at stories critically,
you start to see things that you never would have found before. Such was the
case when I re-read The Wizard
of Oz.
As familiar as I am with this story, I realized that this
book is all about perception. It seems so obvious that I don’t know how I could
have missed it! We all know that the Wizard of Oz is a fraud, but here are some
things that are either missing from the movie or were emphasized and expanded
in the book:
- The Scarecrow, who claims to be brainless, is the one who finds solutions for the majority of the problems faced on the Yellow Brick Road and beyond.
- The Tin Woodman (AKA the Tin Man), who claims to be heartless, is the most considerate and sensitive of the group, even to the point where he weeps openly and rusts.
- The Cowardly Lion, who does feel socially awkward and anxious, is brave and fearless when his friends need his help.*
- Dorothy, who feels so homesick, is the most centered and at peace with herself. Though she feels powerless, she is actually one of the most powerful people in Oz.
And, most importantly:
- Each one of these characters labeled themselves with these negative traits, usually with little prompting by others.
As a person with Clinical Depression™, this idea of
self-labeling is a familiar one. My chemically-imbalanced brain produces
negative thoughts, and sometimes these thoughts overflow into words that just
kind of gush out. I often say that I can’t do this or I’m bad at that. I’m a
terrible something-or-another-er. And really, when I say these things, I never
think there is any harm. At the time, my words only seem like the unavoidable
truth, and they’re so mild and harmless compared to the loud claxon in my brain
that shrieks “You’re worthless, you’re a
failure, and you ruin everything.” In the moment, I really feel like I’m
being kind to myself in comparison. It’s not until later, when I am in a better
state of mind, that I realize how unfairly I’ve painted myself. Really, I (like
most people) am too complex to fit in one category or another. I try to put
myself in a box, but I don’t really fit. There is a difference between having
depression and being Depression Girl or Chronic Failure or whatever it is I
feel like calling myself at the time. No label I could put on myself would be
truly accurate.
But here’s the thing about The Wizard of Oz: nobody thinks twice
about the labels that these characters give themselves, even after the labels
are proved false. This is brought to a ridiculous and poignant extreme when the
wizard admits point blank that he is a fraud (or a humbug, as he tells it), and
yet the other characters still believe that he can magically solve their
problems. It goes something like this:
Wizard: I’m a great wizard!
Dorothy, Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion: Awesome! You can solve
ALL OF OUR PROBLEMS.
Wizard: Well, actually, I’m a big phony. All I’m really good
at is special effects and showmanship. Besides, you guys all seem fine to me.
Except Dorothy over there. Sorry, Dorothy.
Dorothy: I am greatly disappointed.
Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion: Hey, we still have all of these
problems! Solve them, please.
Wizard: But I can’t.
Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion: But you’re the wizard.
Wizard: But I’m not a wizard.
Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion: Yes, you are. You told us so
yourself.
Wizard: But then I explained to you that it was all a lie.
In great detail.
Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion: But we still have these problems
AND YOU’RE A WIZARD.
Wizard: No, I’m not!
Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion: Yes, you are!
Wizard: No I’m not!
Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion: Yes, you are!
Wizard: I never got my Hogwarts letter!
Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion: Solve our problems!
Wizard: But I . . .
Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion: Wiz-ard! Wiz-ard! Wiz-ard!
Wizard: Okay, fine. Using my skills of special effects and
showmanship, I will pretend to solve
your problems just so you will leave me alone:
Wizard: [Uses skills of special effects and showmanship. Pretends
to solve everybody’s problems.]
Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion: It’s a miracle! We’re saved!
Wizard: You’re the same, except for the addition of mostly
worthless props.
Scarecrow, Tin Man, Lion: You’re the best wizard in all the
land!
Wizard: Sigh.
The point here is something I have learned again and again
in life: when you tell someone something about yourself, they generally believe
it without question. Especially if you tell them something negative. And if you
happen to misrepresent yourself, or if you change, you will have a heck of a
time trying to get people to see and treat you differently. People’s
perceptions have this annoying habit of sticking into people’s brains forever.
In my experience, some people won’t even change their mind
after a decade and a mountain of proof. A decade.
I was teenager,
people.
Ahem.
So when it comes to presenting yourself to others, it’s
important to use good marketing. And when it comes to others, it’s important to
remember to base your judgments on actual observations, not just what people
tell you. Not even what people tell you about themselves.
Because we are all pretty hard on ourselves. And we all have
this tendency to think that our problems and failures are worse than everybody
else’s. But none of us fail all the time. None of us fit in a box.
And, like Dorothy, none of us know the extent of our true
power and influence.
See? Look at that. All that truth from a children’s book.
Who’da thunk?
Regards, best wishes, and self-compassion,
-Cecily Jane
*Unlike the movie, the “Cowardly” Lion does not run away when
they fight the Wicked Witch. Instead, when she captures him and tries to turn him
into a pack animal, he bravely refuses. He also jumps over large chasms and
stuff. Really, of all the characters, the movie does him the greatest
injustice.
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