Tracing the Connections

I can’t imagine what life would’ve been like if it weren’t for all the connections I’ve made over the years. Like Simon and Garfunkel used to say, “No man is an island.”

In social work, mapping out the current connections for a person is called a Life Model, and by diagramming out the people involved in a person’s life gives a good representation to work from as you explore the various positive – and negative – influences that motivate behavior. It’s working from the outside in.

Psychologists, in contrast, work from the inside out, and trace motivation behind behaviors from internal processes. How the person interprets and integrates the various stimuli occurring in life will determine how the person will most likely behave.

I tend to lean toward psychology’s theories, without ignoring sociology, though both leave me with a flat aftertaste. Something is missing; something important; something profound. Psychology and sociology are so busy arguing with each other that neither take into consideration the Big Picture: the meaning of life.

Add Darwinian anthropology into the picture, and, instead of pulling everything together with its biological predeterminations, you end up with a mountain of empty ideologies and theories that only pull us further from defining meaning.

This cognitive dissonance wouldn’t exist if monotheistic religions hadn’t played such a large role in a tortuous, imperialistic, inhumane history for the last 2,000 years. Religions would rather argue with psychology, sociology and anthropology, to discredit in full opposition. Instead of pulling us together, instead of helping us understand, religions have kept us apart and kept us from discovering the meaning of life.

Yes, the thought is huge. It’s abstract and has the feel of disconnection; too big to have an influence on or be influenced by a single person. But, is it really?

I broke through that disconnected feeling when in a class about AIDS. For every person you sleep with, they said, you sleep with every person that person slept with. The poster completely covered with all the stick figures with lines drawn between them spoke loud and clear: We are all connected.

Now, imagine what that poster would look like if it were a line drawn between you and every single person you ever interacted with during your lifetime and every single person they interacted with during their lifetime. Oh yes, we are all connected!

Eventually, all the lines come right back to you.

So, you see, no man is an island. It’s just not possible. We are all connected.

A Girl's Gotta Dream

I still remember the times I would wander through the country side as a small girl, half in a dream, and imagine riding a horse instead of walking. Sometimes, I'd run as fast as I could, just to feel my hair blow back. If I found a downed tree, I'd sit on it as if it was a horse and allow myself to go deeper into my imagination.

One day, I went with a friend and her family down to an old farm in Pennsylvania. Back in those days, you could see miles of rock wall fences and farms without indoor plumbing. It was an amazing old place. It was falling apart and in horrible disrepair and I loved it. Once you maneuvered around the hole in the entrance way, there was a huge room filled with old photos and furniture, and it smelled of hundreds of years of history. It wasn't difficult for my imagination to take me back to the 1800's while at that farm, and I was living my dreams.

But, what caught my breath in my chest was this man that rode up on a big, dancing, sweating black horse when we pulled into the farm's driveway. The horse was on fire, its feet danced, the nostrils flared red inside, and the man sat that awesome horse like it was nothing. Just new to my training bra, I fell into my first crush with a bang. The sight of that horse and the man riding it was worth years of fantasies and dreams.

A few years later, I rode that horse. If you handled her with a heavy hand, she'd jig herself into that same sweating tizzy every time. When I got on her, her head dropped like an old nag and she plodded along like she was half asleep. I've always had soft hands, though I didn't know it back then, and I was a little disappointed that she didn't act all fiery for me.

Still, the Knight in Shining Armor dream was one I could swear existed in reality. I saw it with my own eyes! One day, a man on a huge horse would take me back to my fantasies and dreams. I'd hear the clank of the bit, the squeak of the leather, I'd smell the warmth of the horse and feel its power as the wind would blow through my hair.

Oh yes, that would be worth shaving my legs for...

It's All in the Contrast

There's a reason why people come into your life.

No matter how insignificant it may seem at the time, every encounter is an opportunity to learn. It's a chance to expand your perspective, perhaps find an answer to an old nagging question in your mind, or maybe to increase awareness about yourself. It's a chance to compare and contrast, to confront the old and replace it with new.

It's easy to miss these moments that are loaded with opportunity. But, it's all there, waiting for you to open yourself up to them. Life will give you an infinite number of chances until you do. Some of these lessons are tough ones, filled with pain and anguish. Some of the lessons point out the things you need to work on. And some are overflowing with joy. All happen for a reason. It's what you need at that moment to grow, to become more alive.

Once you choose to open yourself up to all that life offers you, the contrasts become more apparent. While looking through the lens of a camera, vision is limited to the tiny frame that eliminates distractions and enhances the details that were all but invisible before. Those details are the life, the nuts and bolts, the particles that all work together to create.

The photo captures the creation. It is beautiful and intricate. It touches the soul.

Then, another takes that photo and enhances it by adding even more, adding a different perspective, adding a piece of self to the beauty and intimacy. It is no longer just a photo. It is nature in all its wonder, it is the inseparability of all illustrated in one captured moment. It is two together, as one, creating much more. It ignites the spirit.

Does the fear of pain and anguish prevent you from experiencing the rest? It's the contrast of pain and joy that pushes open the curtains you hide behind. Trust yourself, you are strong.

You are never given more than you can handle.

Thoughts About City vs Small Town Life

This morning, I read somewhere about a new author writing a vampire series with a twist - the 'scene' is a small southern town. The author thought it unique to put these mystical creatures in a small town instead of foggy London or damp New Orleans; so much so that she believes the vampires are more realistic because they shop at Wal-Mart and speak with a back-woodsy drawl.

I found the whole thing to be a large city dweller's stereotypical misinterpretation of what it's like to live in a small, rural town.

Way back when I was a little kid of 5, my family moved from a small city into a rural town that was a 15 minute drive away. This little town had two bars, a grocery store, a drug store, a gas station, and its own school system. In the 1960s, you didn't have to worry about locking your doors or be concerned about letting the kids roam the neighborhood. Mothers yelled out the door when it was time for supper.

I bought the country house I grew up in and raised my son there, always hanging on to the belief that my safe childhood neighborhood would be a safe one for my son too. It wasn't. By the mid 1980s, you had to lock your doors - to the house and to the car parked in the driveway - and the chip/seal road became a racetrack for a lot more cars in one day than what drove past that same house in half a year only 25 years before. The neighbors weren't the same and they had no interest in knowing each other. It was impossible for my son to enjoy the same freedom I had as a child.

Without realizing it, I've spent my adult life seeking that same safe and peaceful environment that I enjoyed as a child. I roamed fields, climbed mountains and waded in creeks. If I wasn't on my own two feet, I was riding my horse exploring those same fields, mountains and creeks. I grew up with a love and respect for Mother Nature that is totally alien to today's kids.

That alienation from our true environment is now even more distanced by the disillusions of what life is like in a small town now. I've seen quite a bit as a reporter in a mostly rural county to be able to describe fundamental differences that go beyond stereotypes.

Though the city is small when compared with the likes of NY City, Detroit, Denver, Dallas, the largest city in this county is also the county seat. There is a large police department, the Sheriff's Department, a sizable jail. two large school systems, a community college and a major university within the city limits. The city council concentrates on attracting business and developing recreation and tourism features to attract industry. There is an emphasis on collecting taxes, policing and increasing the revenue stream.

Not 10 minutes away is a small town that has one policeman, a volunteer fire department, a two-room city hall and a new open field destined to become a community park. The city council and mayor are older people who all grew up in this small town and chose to live their entire lives there. They know the history of the town and know the families that live there by name. This city council concentrates on fixing the railroad crossing so that the elderly gentleman that lives on the other side won't have to drive the long way around to get to his doctor appointments. They quickly decide on speed bumps to be installed on streets where little children live so that they can play in their front yards safely. Their emphasis is on building public restrooms at the park, offering training seminars for the volunteer firemen and fixing the broken swing on the park's swingset. The city budget is so tiny that it barely pays the electric bill for city hall, yet everyone in town will volunteer if something needs to be done.

Yes, most shop at Wal-Mart, some have a deep southern accent, some commute to Little Rock to work, some have left and came right back, and many are educated, successful, wealthy and high-level state politicians that live next door to the actors and actresses that have chosen small town, rural America to be their home.

Me, I can't handle the sterile anonymity of city living. I was not comfortable not knowing the names of the people on the other side of my back yard fence. Every sound heard can only be an intruder, a rapist or a thief, and driving down the road became prep for a demolition derby.

Here, my neighbors keep an eye on my horse when I'm at work, they watch for me to come home to invite me over for a glass of iced tea and supper if I'm of a mind to eat. Their phone number is saved in my cell phone and visa versa. We watch out for each other, wave with a smile as we pass each other, and stop to chat when we see someone out mowing the yard. Kids of all ages ride 4-wheelers up and down the road and stop to pet neighbors' dogs, cats and even goats. They all smile and wave as they go by.

I live by myself, but I'm never alone. It's safe and peaceful here. And my front door is never locked.

Oh, no vampires live here either.

Tell Me About You

"So, tell me about yourself."

Tell you what about myself? Where should I start? What do I say? runs through my head in no particular order, in a panic, trying to glean from the facial expressions what's expected of me. As many times as I've been asked that dreadful question, I have no recollection of how I ever answered. I was always too busy stumbling and stuttering; so I'd punt. Which means I'd fall back on humor, which never came out right. If I was feeling particularly cocky, I'd deflect with "What would you like to know?"

How do I reply? Should I say,

"I'm a brutally honest sincere old lady person that knows everything is wise and mouthy outspoken, who calls the kettle black says it like it is values honesty and hates liars. I'm a has been an accomplished musician, a struggling successful writer, a wannabe published photographer, who enjoys horseback riding when I can get my butt up there and motivating kicking people to strive for their best."

I inevitably roll my eyes hearing that fluff come out of my mouth. Oh yeah, it's me, but only a very small - and edited - part. Let me rattle on long enough, and I'm sure I'll put my foot in my mouth sooner or later.

It's the formal, "stuffed shirt" answers that aren't always the easy ones to come up with on the fly. "Canned" responses don't seem to fly either. Not for me. So much depends on the moment, the person asking, the setting, the distractions, the.... If I can get away with it, I'll change the subject.

How do you answer? Tell me about you.

Telling is Trampling

I've had this thing, see, for as long as I can remember. It really pisses me off to be told to do or not do something. It can be about anything, insignificant or major, and I go immediately into fight mode. If you ask me, then I will bend over backwards to do, but tell me and you get the finger. Oh, I have tempered the visible reactions quite a bit over the years, but what I feel inside is still very much alive and well. I let it be well known what I feel and advise everyone to just ask, not tell.

If I had to boil it down, I'd have to say it's a matter of acceptance. If you accepted me for who and what I am, then you would ask. I'd know you have that basic regard for me and I would have no qualms about doing what you ask. Those that tell me what to do couldn't give a rat's ass about what I think and feel, and those are the ones that I don't accept any more than they do me. It took many years learning and practicing, but diplomacy dictates a poker face and walking through the nearest exit.

I have no idea if how I feel is shared by others. I'm curious. The evidence is inconclusive.

For example, I live in a "dry" county. The only place you can get an alcoholic beverage in this county is at a VFW or Moose Club, and not all of them, only a few. From what I can tell, the people that do indulge once in awhile drive two counties away for beer, wine, mixed drink ingredients or for a night out.

Personally, I don't care. I've had a bottle of gin in my cupboard for well over a year now, and it'll be there for years to come. But, it is there if I get a notion to have a drink.

True, I am smack-dab in the middle of the Bible Belt. There seems to be a church for every 20 people, there are so many. Wouldn't it be relatively safe to assume that, living in said Bible Belt, that people here would be more apt to be good people? At the top of my list of what it means to be "a good person" are things like honesty, respect, acceptance and nonjudgmentalism.

Taken from a different angle, I don't know that there is that much of a difference in DWI's or alcohol related fatalities in this "dry" county. I don't think so. The schools still do their DARE programs, and there are rehab programs in the county. So, what's the point in declaring it "dry"?

If I chose to go out for a night on the town, I'd have to drive an hour down to Little Rock. If I indulged too much, the risk to me and other drivers on the road has increased significantly more than if I just had to drive into my little town. Right? Just who is supposed to be protected here?

Acceptance here means joining up with those that tell others what they can and cannot do. "They" do this from the camaraderie of the congregation, from inside the church they go to every Wednesday and Sunday. As it turns out, the majority of church goers are the wealthy, well-to-do and the politicians - who snub their noses at anyone not meeting their expectations. Trust me, they all drink!

Someone commented, "if they took a vote today on this 100 year old ruling, this county would not be dry." He's probably right. The outrage over the state approving a lottery pretty much proves it. The voters voted.

You see, this hypocrisy is the one thing that I could never relate to or understand. It is never right to trample on another's free will or freedom of choice. Never. God doesn't. Somehow, I doubt that's part of the sermon. That sermon is in the trash can along with the one teaching personal responsibility.