Today's Soup: Hearty Beef Minestrone

Rich, flavorful stock plays host to a crowded gathering of tender cubes of beef, red kidney beans, pasta shells, green peas, green beans, celery, carrots and tomatoes, seasoned with onions, garlic, fresh basil, fresh parsley and bay leaves.

My Soup Group colleagues are a cultured bunch. They support the visual arts, music, dance, and especially theatre. I realized today that several of them hold subscriptions with the Denver Center for the Performing Arts. So naturally, theatre reviews feature frequently in our soup-making conversation: what shows we've seen, what shows we want to see, what shows we recommend the others go see.

(Arts patronage is only the tip of the cool, cool iceberg that is these ladies' spare time activities. They travel internationally, they get outdoorsy in the mountains, they host anniversary blowouts. They all have other volunteer obligations that they take seriously and where they make a serious contribution. They're passionately committed to their families. I'm taking notes.)

Today Elizabeth announced that she had been to see Spring Awakening at the Denver Performing Arts Complex. We were instantly interested. Mom said she'd heard that the NYC production had received mixed reviews, and Jodi piped up that she'd heard a review on National Public Radio that the show was pretty strange. All of us were eager to hear from Elizabeth what the story was about and what she thought of the local production.

It only got more interesting when Elizabeth began by saying that she had left, walked out, at intermission.

People just about stopped working. I know I put down my spatula and turned around to look at her. Elizabeth is a dedicated patron of the arts, so even a schlock production wouldn't put her off that much. Furthermore, she's worldly and a little tough, I think it's safe to say. She has not yet struck me as the type to shy away from ugly truths. What on earth could this musical have done in the first two acts that would provoke an Elizabeth to leave without seeing the resolution?

Well, she said the play dealt with themes of adolescent sexual awakening, incest and child abuse; and she talked about the juxtaposition of quasi-19th-century costumes and modern rock music that she didn't connect with. We waited for her to say more, because so far, to me at least, that didn't seem like enough to run off someone like Elizabeth. And indeed, she went on to say that the deal-breaker was what she described as a very graphic rape scene early in the play, maybe in the first act. And with that explanation, our soup group seemed to understand.

I understood. I mean, I can understand that you don't want to look at some things, some times. I overheard Elizabeth saying a little later that there are ways to convey violence without explicitly enacting it for the audience. And that is certainly true.

It got me thinking, though.

For one, I got tangled up in the unanswerable question of "what makes good art". Sometimes there's an artistic bravery in presenting negative things in all their graphic realism. Sometimes art makes a greater impact when the audience is allowed, encouraged or required to use their own imaginations to fill in some of the blanks. There's no one way, no "right" answer. And to my mind, asking the question is only a philosophical exercise anyhow. We as a people should always leave room for artistic license - I believe it's vitally important that society grant artists the freedom to express their vision. (I'm pretty sure that's what I believe. There is art that tests this value of mine.)

Elizabeth's tale of walking out also got me thinking about the responsibility to self that any one of us might have to look away sometimes.

And about the tension between the personal responsibility to look away sometimes, and the social obligation not to look away. (Ever?)

And about the privilege it is to have the option of looking away.

And about the role of censorship in art and in media.

I saw a girl die on YouTube. I'm more than embarrassed that I don't know enough about world politics to remember which nation-in-conflict she lived/died in. She might have been Palestinian, she might have been Iranian. She was very pretty, and there was war in the streets, and she was just a bystander, but a stray bullet struck and killed her. It killed her in front of her dad and her brother and someone videotaping the violence. We see her fall and her eyes glaze over. We see the men with her cradling her and begging her to respond, and we see them begin to howl when the blood starts pouring from her mouth and her nose and maybe from her eyes, too.

I shouldn't have watched that, I immediately thought to myself when it was over. And I'm not talking about government censorship, here. I'm not saying it shouldn't have been available for watching. (Separate issue.) I'm saying that my own personal peace-of-mind patrol should have been on higher alert and stopped me from pressing the "play" button.

But there is a question that raises for me, and it's a question similar to the one that gets raised in arguments about government censorship: If something terrible is happening, why should I be protected from seeing it? How is the fact of an event's atrocity the argument that I shouldn't see it? If anyone has to bear witness, then why should I be spared? If it's reality, and I want the truth...

Why should I protect myself? Why should I look away?

Why do we look away? I'm reminded of images of the burning towers on 9/11/2001, and how the networks edited out the people who were jumping/falling from the windows on the upper floors. The fact that people were dying that way is completely brutal. And maybe on top of all of the other horror and carnage and shock of 9/11, we didn’t need to see people falling to their deaths.

But what’s that language - “didn’t need to see”? Why don’t I say what we mean: “Maybe on top of all of the other horror and carnage and shock of 9/11, people’s minds and psyches wouldn’t be able to handle it. Maybe we would have been irreversibly damaged by seeing it.”

It's to some extent an individual matter, though, what’s damaging. Because to some extent it's a question of what the human mind can stand, that is, what any one human mind can stand. There do exist some broad, obvious parameters that we mostly agree on as a society about what's highly disturbing - for example, apparently, the broadcasting of Americans falling to their deaths as a result of a terrorist act. Most often, though, individuals themselves make the best judge of what their own mind/psyche/spirit can handle.

(I am aware that this doesn't even address those who don't have a choice about what they're exposed to, who have no control over their exposure to whatever daily horror might be engulfing them. And that's not a separate issue.)

I guess a lot of us have learned to put some limits on what we take in. (Those of us with a choice in the matter, anyway.) Of course, on the far end of that spectrum are ostriches - those who bury their heads in the sand so they don’t have to see what’s scary and acknowledge that it's happening.

I can't help but think that maybe we should strive to be stronger than that. Stronger of heart, stronger of stomach, sounder in mind.

Shouldn’t we?

I’m not going to link to the video of that girl’s death in the streets because I tend to avoid linking to anything that’s notable because of its negativity. I’m not going to participate even in the promotion that comes from saying, “This is so gross/wrong/horrific, have a look.” This ain't a news outlet.

I am going to link to a really thoughtful and thought-provoking short film called “The Falling Man” that addresses the absence of jumpers/fallers from the images of 9/11. It’s tough stuff, but maybe just tough enough. Consider it in the vein of a healthy workout for a spirit striving to be strong enough to handle a range of life’s realities.

Most Days

I spend a lot of time being afraid. (It's a disorder.)

To my credit, I spend about an equal amount of time trying not to be afraid.

This means, using the above photo as an illustration, I've developed a lot of habits and strategies designed to make me feel less like the terrified pair in the first row, and more like the chill sista in the second row: "Yeah, baby," I imagine her saying to her small companion, "it's just a roller coaster."

I'm reminded of that part in the fantastic 80s movie Parenthood when Steve Martin is feeling terribly exposed and yanked around by life's events, and his wife (played by Mary Steenburgen) compares life to a roller coaster, explaining that the ups and downs are the whole point, and the trick is to learn to enjoy the ride.

Returning to the photo: I do hope some day to become so acclimated to life's permutations that I'll relate most strongly to the back rows of white folks who have their hands thrown recklessly in the air. "Whooo-hoooo!" we'll be hollering together on that day.


Photo credit: thingsyoucantdocokedup.tumbler.com

Reaction

My mouth literally fell open.

Everything around me sort of faded white and started to buzz.

I got scared. I felt a sudden, faint panic, as though something bad was happening to me.

Something bad is happening to EP. Again. Her mom has breast cancer.

I don’t even have clear feelings, just these primitive flashes of sensing -- being a daughter, being a mother, being a mother and a daughter, experiencing loss.

And then, like a rush, fear.

Oh my god I’d be so scared. I’m scared right now. And my ears are still buzzing.

Yes, I prayed a jumbled wish for her family’s well-being. “Make her mom be okay,” I heard myself begin, “make it better.” And then I balked at hearing myself giving God commands. But what does God expect us to want? Not knowing what to ask, I ultimately prayed my go-to prayer: that God’s will be done and that those impacted be able to handle it with some grace.

I am uncomfortably aware, however, that “God’s will be done” is not what I prayed when it was my mother’s life in question. In fact, I don’t remember praying at all until I was in the hospital, sitting next to Mom’s bed, and the doctor was saying that she’d be fine. Then I prayed, in gratitude, and with a sagging, exhausted relief.

But I really haven’t had my prayers on straight since then. That would be five months now. Angry at God for five months now for even threatening me with losing her.

So no, this reaction of mine isn't entirely about EP and her mom, though I'm urgently wishing them well.

I guess...I guess I right away have to figure out how to do something other than be this scared all over again. I have to remember to breathe from deep down in that red chakra. I have to stop bracing myself, literally, relax my shoulders and arms. And I can try, I have to try to stop that chaotic mental cyclone of fearful thoughts, that spiral in which I’ll find myself tangled up later tonight, sleepless and aggravated, unless I choose a more serene approach now.

I’m sure there are exceptions, but in my experience, people who get caught up in their fear and worry generally are not terribly effective. And if there’s a bad situation that can be helped, I’d rather be effective than scared. If I get to choose.

In actuality, I’m probably going to have to settle for being effective WHILE scared. Because the fear isn’t going away. And really, at this point, all I’m hoping for is to keep it locked up in the drunk tank till it calms down.

That said, I am aware that at some point I’m going to have to actually deal with these feelings.

My Trust, Gratitude, Inspiration Friday

I'm beginning to develop a dislike of my blog.

I feel somewhat disloyal to the blog, saying that. But honestly, today I feel like this record is living proof --or public evidence, at least-- of how stupid and disingenuous I can be. I find myself writing shit I don't mean. Or that I don't mean entirely. Or that I might mean today, but almost certainly won't mean tomorrow. Yet there it still is.

Before I began blogging, I figured that I would just write about things that I could stand by. Just don't write anything that you can't stand by. That's what I told myself. And I thought for a long time about how that might work. I tend to see both sides of an issue. A lot of my ideas and thoughts are works in progress. And, most significantly perhaps, I don't want anyone I like to dislike me. <-- that was close to honest. Truly honest: I don't want anyone to dislike me. (See how I EASE into the truth? Truth can be a lot for me to take, all at once. But I am nonetheless a fan of Truth, sad as any given Truth may be, so I am committed to ending up there. It just takes me a minute, sometimes.)

So, as I largely couldn't find any personal topic that I could write about, publish on a blog, and still feel good about, I didn't blog.

Instead of blogging, I wondered about What's wrong with me? I mean, do you READ blogs? People go into all sorts of trivial, misinformed, grammatically incorrect and personal matters, over and over again. (Not at the blogs I enjoy, but it does go on.) So the bar is low. And that's not the standard, that's just some context. Standard-wise, I wondered about What kind of a wimp do you have to be to not have any thoughts or ideas that you wouldn't mind sharing. I know I have a problem with sharing, in that sense. I create things that I'm pleased with, even proud of, but the LAST thing I would want to do is expose any of these things to the harsh light of day. So you see how incredibly courageous this site is for me. Ha ha. You probably don't see that at all, and are tired of my whining.

Moving on... Among the blogging public who I admire is Brene Brown, the writer of Ordinary Courage. ("Writer of"? "Host of"? "Writer at"? I don't know.) She does a play on TGIF that she calls Trust Gratitude Inspiration Friday. In her words:

I believe a joyful life is made up of joyful moments gracefully strung together by trust, gratitude, and inspiration.

Every Friday, I'm going to try to be deliberate and mindful about what I'm trusting, what I'm grateful for, and what's inspiring me.

How's that for good spirit! Let's be glad about more than just the end of the work week. Because what's that? It reminds me of that joke about the guy who is hitting his head against the wall, and his friend walks up and says, Hey, why are you hitting your head against a wall? And the guy says, Because it feels so good when I stop.

Tr-Gr-In-Friday is about elevating the weekend-signaling goodness that is Friday by making a point of calling out the positives. It's not just the end of the work week that's great. It's LOTS of moments and aspects of life that are great, including the ability to recognize that they're great. And I buy that with all of my heart.

So I thought, despite a crap morning, I'd give it a go here. Without further ado, here is The Preferred Daughter's first installation of Trust, Gratitude, Inspiration Friday:

I am TRUSTING that underneath this swirl of emotions today -- guilt, frustration, regret, anger, fear, resentment -- lies my true and peaceful self, and she is still me.

I am GRATEFUL for my Handsome Man, who has profound and frequent moments of grace that make me incredibly thankful to share a life and a residence with him.

I am INSPIRED by the terrific work of the author of ("writer at"? *sigh*) Ordinary Courage, who is active in the field of shame study and authenticity promotion. She would say it differently (read: better), and that's okay on Tr-Gr-In-Fr: I'm inspired by her ability to find the right words for the complicated issues she addresses. I'm inspired by her attempts to practice in her everyday life what she preaches in theory. I'm also inspired by her willingness to share that personal journey with the public. In fact, I think that's pretty badass.

And at the end of all that trust and gratitude and inspiration, I feel a little bit like giving myself a break. (This was probably Professor Brown's plan all along...) All I'm doing is trying, yeah, but I give other people credit for trying. Maybe I should get some credit. I'm trying to be authentic, all day long. I'm trying to work through my baggage. I'm trying to be a good person. I'm trying to realize some of my potential. I'm trying to have a personal blog. I'm trying, okay? I've got challenges and blind spots and spelling errors, like most people. But I put a lot of effort into my attempts to do better.

Maybe, at least on Fridays, that's all we'll ask.