Post-Evangelical Easter Reflection

These are some of my reflections, as a post-Evangelical-possibly-heretical-possibly-not-Christian, about Easter. I wrote this in my journal in the sunshine today and, wanting it to have a home, I (pardon the pun) resurrected this blog. 

Reading time: 8 minutes

My Evangelically-Shaped Easter

I used to view Easter as a day (/weekend / week) to observe the historical moment in time where my inevitable, innumerable sins were paid for by a perfect God-man.  This gift, of God paying the price of my sins, was graciously offered to me and to everyone else in the entire world, past and present. (Or was it just present and future? I forget). Given that I’d already accepted God's gift of Eternal life--I did this as a young child, like most of the children in my church community--I knew I was saved from eternal damnation (aka hell. The eternal burn.)  

Because this was my worldview, Easter was, for the earliest years of my life,  both a joyous occasion to rejoice in my promised salvation but also a pressing reminder that many of my (unchurched) friends were still on the path to end up in hell when they died. (Because, you know…they hadn’t accepted the gift that Jesus offered them.)

I did what any loving evangelical convinced by this truth would do: I prayed fervently for God to work in their hearts so that they, too, might come to know the joy of eternal life in Christ. I prayed that they might one day be able to join me and the rest of the church congregation when we proclaimed “He is risen indeed!"

(NB: Some of you, reading my claim of wanting other friends to “know the joy” along my parallel statements about burning in hellfire might think I’m being facetious. But I promise: I am not. I really did feel such a deep joy on account of my Christian faith, and I longed for others I loved to feel it too. I have a lot of compassion for the version of myself who saw the world in this way; I know I felt a lot of love for others—in the way that I knew how to. So if you’re feeling like rolling your eyes or shaking your fists at any Christians you know who currently conceptualize life in these ways, I invite you to try to first remember that they are seeing the world in a different way than you are; and probably their hearts are filled to the brim with love for you—in the way that they know how. Anyway, I digress.)

 

So that was Easter for me. For about 20 years or so. A mix of joy and fear. Both feelings were immense. 

(Now, it’s worth noting that not all Christians interpret Easter in the way that I did. Easter was not (/is not) a reminder about salvation vs. damnation for the many Christians who do not believe in a literal hell from which our sinful selves need to be saved via a payment of a perfect being. I don’t know quite enough about other Christian modes of interpreting Easter to summarize them here, but I know they are plentiful and I don’t want to paint them all with the same brush. There are huge variations within the religion we call Christianity.

But this sin-ridden, hell-bound humans + loving, debt-paying Saviour was the Christianity that I grew up in and, thus, this was Easter for me. It was a striking reminder about eternity, and a time to rejoice that you’ve been saved while also fret for those who aren’t.)

Given that this particular mode of interpreting Easter was so dominant in my psyche for so many years, I am not altogether surprised that I eventually veered away from that view. I do, however, personally find it VERY strange and unexpected that, this year, I find myself acutely (re)drawn to celebrate Easter. But here I am. 

Post-Evangelical Explorations of Religion/Spirituality 

For those of you who do not know, I have spent the last decade or so exploring religious and spiritual views that extend far beyond the lens that the church I grew up in taught me to see the world through. In these last ~10 years, I have identified as an atheist, an agnostic, an ignostic, a Jew, a Buddhist, a Christian, a bhakt, “Spiritual But Not Religious”, “Religious But Not Spiritual”, and “Other” ….depending on who was asking me the question and how much time I had for my answer. 

A lot of my discomfort with identifying (solely) as a Christian now is due to the fact that the type of Christianity that I once (strongly and happily!) identified with is now very far from being a comfortable fit for me.  If I were to try to wear my earlier Christianity like a sweater, it would feel itchy, scratchy. It barely fits over my head. And yet... 

I love so many of the teachings of Christ. Indeed, I cannot help but think that if he looked me in the eyes and said “follow me” then I would pack my bag (—wait, I forget: am I allowed to take the time to pack a bag? It’s been awhile since I’ve read that biblical passage in Matthew…) and run after him. I would want to follow him, and be in his presence.  Sit at his feet; absorb his teachings. (At least for a little bit? Wouldn’t you? Who would not want to be in the presence of such a teacher!?!?!) So, given that I long to follow Christ... am I a Christian? Who gets to decide if I “count” as one? Does the fact that the Christianity I was born-and-raised with is no longer the Christianity I wish to embrace mean that I must forfeit the identity once and for all? 

I honestly do not know. *shrugs*

(One of the reasons I often, self-protectively, remind people that I am not a theologian (I am, rather, a cultural anthropologist who studies religion) is that a theologian would probably be required to have an answer for that question of whether or not I "count" as a Christian. I quite like that I am allowed to shrug my anthropological shoulders at it. A theologian would know a lot more about the history of Christian doctrinal norms over the years, and they would be able to say “yes or no” to my questions about whether believing X, Y, or Z about Jesus is enough to let me pass as a Christian.  

I'm *not* a theologian, but I vaguely remember reading something by the Christian theologian Roger Haight in the delightful book Jesus and Buddha: Friends in Conversation where he asserted that there are a few “bottom line” doctrinal points that Christians have to believe in in order to be a Christian. One of these doctrines was about belief in resurrection. If that's correct, then even if I’m able to INTERPRET resurrection as having a different purpose than paying my sin-debt, I suppose I do struggle to believe that someone was medically dead for three days and then returned to life. So maybe I’m eternally-outcast on the Christian identity bit, I’m not sure. Go ask a theologian!)

Returning to Easter

But here’s the thought that has kept circling around in my mind leading up to, and during, this Easter weekend: I care about Easter. After a multi-year hiatus from caring at all about it--or really any religious holy day--it is beginning to feel meaningful for me once again. So, I've wondered: why am I leaning back towards it? What’s the substance of my inklings? (Some Christians might say that God is calling me back to him. I suppose that's a possibility.) But, at this point in time, I'm more interested in what is going on in my heart/mind/soul/body. What rises up in me? If Easter is giving me an emotional response, what are these emotions? (FYI, I'm trying to get better at knowing and naming my emotions. It's something that Marc Brackett speaks very wisely about.) There is no tangible sense of joy, nor fear, that I have been able to locate and yet there is a deep sense of meaning, respect, and awe. 

I’ve been trying to narrow in on what I find meaningful about Easter. Is it akin to nostalgia? Or, levelling-up, is it like the Portuguese saudade , e.g. the deep emotionally-entrenched longing for the familiar? Or is it that I want to be able to punctuate my annual calendar with spiritually-meaningful moments, and the global take-over of Christianity has made it quite convenient to align myself with Christian holidays? After all, I’m not sure about you, but my Good Friday day-off-work was, indeed, quite good!

It might be some of those things. 

But I think it is also the story of Easter itself that I find meaningful and compelling: it’s a story about a loving, wise teacher who inspired many and challenged more. Who chose non-violence when faced with violence. Who suffered, brutally, in
the midst of it all—who felt abandonment/betrayal from God himself [...herself.../Itself..?]—and who still persevered. And who, the story goes, managed to overturn the very notion of death itself through resurrection. It's a story about the act of death itself being somehow able to defeat death...in other words, it's a story about how all things eventually turn back to life. 

Photo by Nika Kuchuk

Resurrection is Everywhere

This sense---that all things eventually turn back to life---feels overwhelmingly true the more I experience and reflect on life. As the snow melts around me and the energies of springtime begin to flow—in the budding leaves, in the soaring and singing birds, in the rippling water…and, I hasten to admit, in the smelly dog-shit and bits of trash that are being more and more revealed in my neighbour’s backyard—I cannot help but feel that a story about the way that everything leads back again to life, is a story worth celebrating. Resurrection tales are not unique to Christianity and Jesus, but the details of the Jesus/Christian story are a uniquely-formed invitation to reflect on the ways that death and life intertwine and, indeed, get mixed up with each other. I for one find the story quite awe-inspiring. 

I’m a little fuzzy over whether it’s rude or even inappropriate for me to summarize the Easter story in this way without paying attention to either historicity or theological accuracy. But I love the story. It feels hopeful—if a little heretical. 

Grad School + Beyond:

I'm 3 years into my PhD and I just read the statistic: "only three or four in every hundred PhD students in the United Kingdom will land a permanent staff position at a university."
The stat showed up in this article in Nature's International Weekly Journal of Science, which is written with regard to the sciences, but I have my severe doubts that the humanities are any better off: the reality is that myself and most graduate students I know will be hard-pressed to get a permanent contract with a university even after we've all become "Doctor ____."
This should cause us to pause and reflect on why we're doing these degrees in the first place.
To me, graduate studies---isolated yet competitive work culture, high-stress, long hours, low-pay, and seemingly with no promise of an academic job that most people assume they will fall into---is really only worth it if you (a) can work with the flexible learning environment it allows (/forces upon) you; and (b) can stay happy/healthy while doing it.
An alarmingly high number of students struggle to stay happy and healthy + link this struggle to their studies/work environment. Some studies like this one in Science have shown that 1 in 3 graduate students struggle with mental health on account of their workload and work environment (and, based on my friend/colleague circle, I'd speculate it's actually significantly higher than 33%.)
I assume I will be happy to have done my PhD even if I wind up in a career totally outside of academia where my PhD specifics aren't really needed (/useful?) (--but then again, I only pursued graduate studies in the first place because it provided a debt-free, albeit financially meagre, way to do full-time learning on topics that interest me.) I truly hope that other grad students feel similarly, and that they're studying their various research topics primarily because they enjoy the process of studying. (At least, I pity those of you who are wading through grad school, not enjoying it at all, but are under the [false?] hope that you will end up in a TT professorship job.)
So, if this is indeed true that the process itself ought to be enjoyable, it is most important that we focus on enjoying the actual process at hand.
A few things come to mind in this regard. I'm writing them out somewhat with the hope that I will force myself to adopt them for myself...(that is, they are pieces of advice which are thus far hypocritical due to not following them myself...)

1. Abandon the 'publish or perish' paradigm. 2. Stop stressing that I haven't read enough theories, or don't know as much of the literature as xyz. 3. Focus on learning for the sake of improving my knowledge of a topic that interests/intrigues me---not for appearing smart, not for impressing my supervisor, etc. 4. Don't try to make a perfect + brilliant thesis/paper/etc. That benchmark is unrealistic and can be somewhat uninspiring. Try to write something that is interesting, or challenging, or inspiring, or beautiful, ...and coherent. It doesn't have to incorporate everything you've learned and it doesn't have to be applauded by the academe. 5. (I would like your tips/feedback!) And, now, a poem...which I find challenging, inspiring, beautiful, and coherent.

"Every day I see or hear something that more or less

kills me with delight, that leaves me like a needle

in the haystack of light. It was what I was born for - to look, to listen, to lose myself inside this soft world - to instruct myself over and over in joy, and acclamation."

~ Mary Oliver (USA, 1935-), from “Mindful,” Why I Wake Early

Lost and Found

A significant part of my time in India this year has been focused on the beautiful but chaotic process of ever-learning more about myself and the world around me. I’ve been prompted, pushed, pulled, and sometimes dragged into experiences, events, and conversations which make me question what I value most in life and whether I am acting in a way that corresponds with my values. 

What is that I hold onto? What is it that I think is important? Do I spend my time in a way that shows that? In what way do I want to engage with the world? (Am I doing that?) How do my actions and beliefs impact other beings around me? Am I happy? Do I feel loved by others? Am I loving others? Am I loving myself?  

I feel that these are important questions—and I ask them, in one way or another, almost every day. As such, time and time again, I find myself in need of the reminder that all of this is a process. For better or for worse, we are people who are caught in change and motion rather than grounded in constancy. 

(This is felt rather poignantly when travelling to new cities almost every week, but there are other ways of noting this in our lives even when we seem to stay still…we are always changing.) I’m trying to become more comfortable with uncertainty, and also with the seeming-dichotomy of knowing something (“holding onto something”) and being open to new ways-of-knowing/being.

My desire to try out new things and be okay with change, uncertainty, and imperfection has manifested in a rather practical way for me this year, where I have dedicated some time to a new project: shooting and editing videos which tell stories which I believe to be important and interesting. You can stay tuned for the release of some of those in the near future...

Sometimes we lose ourselves to find ourselves; and sometimes those two actions seem to be indistinguishable from each other.

I’m pretty sure that’s why I wrote this song, Lost and Found. (I picked up a guitar the other day and the melody and the lyrics came out within about 4 minutes.) I suppose these thoughts have been percolating for some time now… You can listen to it on my soundcloud here or just read the lyrics below.

~

I found myself at the sea.
I found myself by the water.
I found myself as I lost all the thoughts
that I thought I had to hold onto.

I lost myself at the sea.
I lost myself by the ocean.
I lost myself as I found all the thoughts
that I thought I’d learned to let go of.

I’m still holding, I’m still losing, I’m still finding.
And searching and praying and cursing and letting go. 

Interconnectivity

Why I Wake Early

by Mary Oliver

Hello, sun in my face.

Hello, you who made the morning

and spread it over the fields

and into the faces of the tulips

and the nodding morning glories,

and into the windows of, even, the

miserable and the crotchety – 

best preacher that ever was,

dear star, that just happens

to be where you are in the universe

to keep us from ever-darkness,

to ease us with warm touching,

to hold us in the great hands of light –

good morning, good morning, good morning.

Watch, now, how I start the day

in happiness, in kindness.

There is something really grounding about being taken away from the busy-ness of regular life and being thrown into a life of simplicity where plenty of time is spent outdoors. I found that, through my 10-day course in Advaita Vedanta at Swami Dayananda Ashram in Rishikesh, India, I was ushered into a reminder of the importance and goodness of stepping back and slowing down from my otherwise generally-chaotic lifestyle. 

This is not to say that our days were empty...our days started early (some individuals attended a daily 5:15am temple ritual; I joined in at the 7am meditation) and ended around 9:15pm when the nightly "satsang" (literally "truth gathering" but essentially a Q&A time with our teacher) finished. In between those hours, we had 2+ Vedanta classes, yoga class, Sanskrit class, chanting class, and free time which, at least for me, generally resulted in either a visit to the library or a conversation with another camper about the material we were learning.

There are a number of key points to Vedanta philosophy which I have difficulty accepting. One of them is the idea that, fundamentally, no person or no thing is different than any other substance. On one side, I find this a beautiful thought and I think it can do much to promote equality and love, but there are some philosophical nuances/implications which I find difficult to accept. (I won't get into those now.) But I must say that having a time and space--- and the guidance of some rather wise gurus--- to contemplate the nature of the self and of reality was a very welcome thing. 

How often do we view ourselves as totally separate from the other people around us, and our very surroundings? What might things be like if we focused more on exploring the varying ways in whcih we are integreally connected? (If you are not convinced by the Vedanta argument regarding total non-dualism, that is fine. There are other ways that you can focus on the interconnectivity.) The neuroscientist Jill Bolte Taylor shares some interesting thoughts of her experience with a stroke/brain hemorrhage, and the way that the right hemisphere of our brain is responsible for connecting us to the world around us. 

sunset in Goa, India

"Peace on Earth" etc. etc.

Merry Christmas! I am thrilled and grateful to be with my siblings and parents for Christmas, as well as with a number of friends-who-feel-like-family in the days surrounding the holiday. I'm enjoying it quite a bit :)! 

About 25 years later, my siblings and I still indulge in
silly laughter around my parents' Christmas tree.

But I also know that holidays, more than the average day, can place a megaphone to the pain in our lives. Maybe it's the first Christmas without a particular loved one. Maybe you aren't with family or friends or other loved ones. Maybe gift buying has made you broke. Maybe you feel lonely, or wistful, or apprehensive, or sad, or empty, or confused about what is really important.

I find myself in some of these spaces.

I think these pains are legitimate and so are the questions evoked by them. This is my advice--to all of us who have moments (or extended moments) of hardship in the holidays: try to glean what good stuff you can from this opportunity for such reflection. Try to use it as a time to explore yourself deeper and know yourself better. Try to look at the most frightened, puffy-eyed part of you and tell yourself 'you are loved, and you are going to be okay.' Try to walk forward--not running away without ever looking back, but walking steadily with your eyes fixed on where you want to be, yet comfortable to glance around and look your past square in the eye. It's an important part of you, and whatever you've walked through is what allowed you to get here. Try to continually reorient yourself so that you are simultaneously wrapped up in love, supported by love, and are walking toward love. Try to let your heart and hands be loosed of any unnecessary things you've been carrying; it's easier to walk forward without them. Try to ask someone else for a hug, or a listening ear, or a walk, or a sleigh ride if/when you need it. It's okay to need it.

my sister took this in Cypress

There's a beautiful Christian tradition in some churches to physically "pass" the peace of Christ from one person to the next. I've partaken in this whilst in a Syrian Orthodox Church in India: one person starts with the intangible "peace" held symbolically in his hands and, as he passes it to 2+ people, it gradually makes its way through the congregation. It's a beautiful way of enacting the symbol of spreading peace on earth. And this--the celebration of a birth of a baby who people believed would bring peace on earth--is a worthwhile Christmas reminder. It may be about giving/receiving gifts, it may be about spending time with family+friends (both of these can be done in healthy or unhealthy ways, I think), but it's also about peace. And that encapsulates a whole lot of things. I hope you partake in peace this Christmas

Global Horrors and Good People

Summary: There are some really shitty, discouraging things that happen in our world. I wonder whether there is something that we might to do not only remain afloat but to make a change. I suspect that a lot of this comes from small, intentional acts of love.

Last week in Krakow, Poland I visited the Auschwitz Memorial/Museum. 

"arbeit macht frei" ["work sets you free"]

It was a deeply emotional experience for me which was of course, in many ways, expected. (As a friend pointed out to me, it would be sociopathic to be reminded/confronted with such a deep form of mass suffering and not feel emotionally moved.) But it also provoked some unexpected thoughts. One such thought was realising that what scares me the most about global horrors like the WW2 Holocaust is not actually the people like Hitler (…or, in different geo/cultural contexts: Joseph Kony, or Trump, or Mugabe, or countless others…) who spew hatred and encourage discrimination and call people to violence. 

place where night guard sat watch over the camp

To be sure, Hitler spewed hatred and is often attributed with the violence that ensued during the reign of Nazi Germany .  But it’s also the people who stood behind him, or around him—the people who couldn’t be bothered to stand in his way—which allowed the many horrors to take place. And it’s the societies which formed the structures that allowed him to stand up strong and high—rather than collectively deciding he ought to be blocked, or toppled over—which seem equally horrific. 

This really scares me.

I don’t know anyone (myself certainly included here) who is consistently kind and compassionate without any faults or shortcomings: we’re all human and we make mistakes and have moments where we are mean or unkind or disinterested. And this is probably okay and should certainly be expected.  But this becomes scary when either (a) individuals become more driven by cruelty and selfishness than by kindness and selflessness; or (b) societies/groups of individuals choose to sit back and let cruelties happen around them. 

barbed wire walls around the camp

There are always good people—throughout corners of our world—who stand up and do whatever is in their power to put an end to the horrors they see unfolding around them. There are always good people; I am convinced of this. There are a number of times I have witnessed or experienced complete strangers stand up and do something thoughtful/loving for someone who was being wronged. These experiences are life-giving. 

The Auschwitz memorial museum wrote out the story of a man who offered his life for another prisoner who had been sentenced to death. It told of the number of individuals who risked (and sometimes lost) their lives and their family’s lives in order to feed/house/protect a neighbour, a friend, or even a stranger. Many did intentional acts of goodness even if this came at a cost to their own well being. Jesus was like this. Gandhi...Aung San Suu Kyi…. Mother Theresa… Nelson Mandela…. Malala….  The nameless woman who I saw the other week helping a homeless man… People who stand in active solidarity with the marginalised or oppressed-----there are plenty such people—of all ages, and from all cultural/religious backgrounds. 

one of many photos of individuals who perished at the camps;
I find this photo of this gentleman to be particularly striking.

And yet in this very same breath it can sometimes seem so easy to be overwhelmed by the horror and the cruelty of humans—both on a global and local scale. The state of our world really does break me sometimes. And in these moments it becomes difficult to focus on (and cultivate, and contribute to) the people who do loving things.

I need to remind myself—probably every day—that love is ultimately stronger than cruelty.

And there are PLENTY of opportunities in our current-day affairs to respond with kindness, goodness, love, etc. (And, perhaps we even ought to take a rather strong stand against people or systems that we think go against these values.) Unfortunately, we don’t have to look far to see injustices—some are already in full swing; some are piling up like a dam about to burst. If you open a newspaper, turn on the TV channel, or even just walk around your city, you will see it. Cruelty abounds. It’s cancerous and pervasive and sometimes it seems to be contagious. 

But, as overwhelming and all-consuming that such cruelties may seem, love is ultimately stronger. It is; it absolutely is. And we have always known that love is stronger; we have always believed it and held to this with conviction. That is why some wars could never be won even when battles were finished; love had simultaneously nullified and transcended them. 

Cemetery attached to the Old Synagogue in Krakow;
Jews partake in the mitzvah (command) of commemorating the deceased
by placing a stone at the burial site

I think that, if we wish to act lovingly and compassionately, we must take a serious look at the circles we inhabit—our neighbourhoods, our workplaces, our countries, our online communities, other spheres of influence, etc.—and see if there are small or large injustices or cruelties that we might take a stand against. And/or, we might see if there are ways that we can bring love, compassion, joy, hope, grace, etc. into the lives of those who need it. (Which is probably all of us.)

outer wall of the Jewish cemetery attached to the Old Synagogue in Krakow

I quite like this quote by Gandhi—he refers to it as his ‘talisman’—I’ll end with it:

" Whenever you are in doubt, or when the self becomes too much with you, apply the following test. Recall the face of the poorest and the weakest man [woman] whom you may have seen, and ask yourself, if the step you contemplate is going to be of any use to him [her]. Will he [she] gain anything by it? Will it restore him [her] to a control over his [her] own life and destiny? In other words, will it lead to swaraj [freedom] for the hungry and spiritually starving millions?
- Source: Mahatma Gandhi [Last Phase, Vol. II (1958), P. 65]

p.s. This is a beautiful song about love and forgiveness, written by my friend Karis Taylor.

Goals and Prioritising + and Living Meaningfully

What are your goals for this next 12 months? (Is that a question you ever ask yourself?)

It’s a question I ask myself a lot—in various forms/time-lines. In fact, I am willing to entertain the possibility that I just may be too Type-A/task-driven ;).   I make goals for what I want to do on that particular day (or in that particular 50-minute period) and I usually also have a ~7 day, ~3 month, ~12 month, and ~3 year list of to-dos/goals either pinned to my bulletin board or just floating around somewhere in my mind. I feel immensely more calm when I have some sort of plan—preferably written out in a spreadsheet with colour-coding and hyperlinks J. I really like having a sense of where I might head, even if past experience has shown me that that almost always changes.

Now, I’m about to go to India for approximately one year of fieldwork (focused on interreligious relations and based at an ashram.) And, now knowing this ^ about my goal-orientedness, you can appreciate my feelings of chaos when the ashram estate manager informed me “you can come and stay for 2-3 months, but after that let’s see.” I felt like I was treading water and a big wave splashed me in the face; I gasped and choked a little bit.

At present, I plan to be in India for ~11 months. How was I to cope with this “stay for 2-3 months and then we’ll see”? If I wasn’t going to remain at that place, I wanted to at least write down on a piece of colour-coded paper where I thought I’d be for the remaining months.

And so, my type-A brain is doing the next-best thing. I am planning not WHERE I want to be for the next 12 months, but WHO I want to be. Another way of conceptualising this has been: what do I want to get out of the next 12 months? Yet another way has been: what do I want to focus my energy on and contribute to during the next 12 months?


Who do you want to be (or, perhaps, to become) in the next 12 months? (Is that a question you ever ask yourself?)



I continue to ask these sorts of questions while preparing to head to India because, over my multiple trips to India in the past ~4 years, India has become a place where I have allowed myself to explore these questions in a very real way. Of course, I pose them in other places too, but I seem to pose them especially whilst out of my "regular" routine--and a lot of this has happened to be in India.

Evening aarti on the Ganges river in Varanasi

I think these are important questions to think through. (And so I’ve made a list and colour coded them.) Just kidding. Or am I?

Here are some of the things I want to spend my time doing. (And yes, I note they are still in the form of a to-do list. You can’t completely strip me of my organisational tendencies..)

- learn Hindi
- try to play an Indian classical instrument. Maybe the sarod.
- be happy
- be involved in the community I find myself in
- gather enough data to write a good PhD thesis
- don't become consumed by getting enough data to write a good PhD thesis
- sketch and draw
- meditate lots
- learn to record good audio (my own songs? Bhakti bhajans?)
- become better at video shooting and editing; make short videos about life in the ashram and life in india
- live simply and sustainably (maybe get involved with some community-kitchen projects, or agriculture)
- appreciate small things; say ‘thank you’ more often
- become less judgmental and more compassionate
- learn local ways of doing things (sewing? agriculture? cooking?) that I do not currently know
- learn what people outside of academia think about God/religion/interreligious relations
- practice communicating my thoughts on ^ for people inside and outside of academia
- spend time outdoors; go hiking
- write poetry
- find creative ways to enter [non-academic] discussions about what it means to live meaningfully
- learn more about who/what God is

Sunshine in Croatia

Of course I do realise that some of these are a bit more ambiguous than others are…

Broadly speaking, I find that, all too readily, I become stressed out about planning details and striving for goals that—in the grand scheme of things—don’t really matter all that much. For example, writing my PhD thesis: this is a good and admirable goal, and I intend to focus on content that I think is important for a number of reasons…but as soon as this particular goal takes over my ability to be a loving friend/family member, a kind neighbour, or a compassionate stranger, I think I have to seriously question whether I have my priorities straight.

This is difficult because, for the most part, we live in societies that are career/results-driven. At least in my experience, careers (and steps towards improving our careers) are the one thing that people are almost bound to congratulate others on.

I had a sort-of “aha!” moment in this regard when I was accepted for my PhD. Around the same time, a friend of mine (who is extremely intelligent and could certainly have gone on to do a PhD had she wanted to) decided to take a short-term contract position. At this same time, she also chose to put off any imminent plan of doing a PhD so that she and her husband could start their family without worrying about PhD stresses. People congratulated me on my PhD. And people congratulated her on her contract work. But a number of people asked her why she wasn’t doing a PhD, and I think very few (if any) congratulated her on her decision to devote her time and energy to her future-kids, to her marriage, and to all the other ways she was now able to volunteer within her community.  Why is this?

Why is it that we automatically congratulate and praise things associated with “measurable intelligence” and (presumably) pay-checks, but we rarely think to congratulate or praise people who have chosen to live in a way that leaves a small carbon footprint, or who grow their own vegetables, or who volunteer at the soup kitchen, or who do any number of other things that are inarguable examples of love for their community around them and/or for the world in which we live.

Rocks and rivers in Vancouver, Canada

Priorities change with opportunities, and this is inexorably wrapped up in priviledge. I recognise that, and I recognise that I'm not addressing that here. But, with the opportunities (and yes, the priviledges and Priviledge) that I have, I think I must seriously question whether I am using my time, energies, and passion well. Am I choosing to live in ways that grow me into a more loving and compassionate person? Am I choosing things that make me happy---and doing so in a way that does not abuse or hurt others--rather than choosing things that make me (in the eyes of some) "successful"? What might our world look like if we all strived to become more focused on love, compassion, and service to others rather than on success, prestige, and wealth? (I've written out some thoughts on a related topic here)

All this to say, I want to keep my priorities in check. And I want to be someone whose schedule and goals reflects their theoretical priorities. And I want to be someone who tries to praise and encourage others who engage in intentional acts of loving kindness. How about you, who/what do you want to be? As always, feel free to comment below or PM me. 

Perfectionism, Vulnerability, and Reconsidering What It Means to Be Strong

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

I suspect I appear strong to others, because it probably looks as if I have things going quite well for me and that I have a ‘good head on my shoulders’ or something like this. I have a great circle of caring & fun friends. I am doing my PhD on full scholarship at a top-ranked institution. I’ve always played sports at a high level. I create art and sometimes even perform it in public venues. I’ve been actively involved in a variety of student council type activities. I’ve been successful at getting teaching opportunities and jobs with leadership responsibilities, and I generally do well in these environments. I’m determined, hardworking, and organised, and I tend to get shit done (and usually in advance of deadlines!) and this is what many people see when they look at me. I can appear ‘strong’ to others, and sometimes I even trick myself.

But all of my close friends know another side of me as well. They know that I all too frequently struggle with really intense feelings of worthlessness and meaningless, and that I often find myself losing total hope and wanting to give up. My close friends know that I walk this weird, delicate balance where I desperately want people to love and accept me and near-constantly doubt that they do. It can be debilitating to always wonder if they do. My close friends know I want to be someone who doesn’t need anyone, all the while knowing that I’m someone who totally needs a loving, supporting community around me because human beings are built for relational connections, and I’ve grown to need this over the years. They know that I crack under pressure and can easily enter a full-on panic attack where I seemingly forget how to breathe; where I gasp for air, blubbering like a baby, until my body becomes so tired from shaking and hyperventilating that I finally shut down, and I just lay there for a while before stoically getting up and forcing myself to get shit done. Because I get shit done…that’s what strong people do, right?  

I try to limit these ‘weak’ moments like my anxiety or depression to the comfort of my own home but they’ve happened in spaces where I couldn’t bottle them in anymore; I regularly had panic attacks at the department building where I did my master’s degree. One time I collapsed on a walk home from school from hyperventilating after a particularly anxiety-ridden day.  I felt totally dejected the other morning at the library while printing an assignment because I began doubting whether I had anything worthwhile to say, or whether I should be in this PhD program. I frequently experience intensely negative thoughts that I am not good enough to be doing whatever it is I am trying to do. And I begin to feel weak. And then I feel weak for beginning to feel weak, because why not. ‘Weak people are lame! Get it together!!’ It can be a vicious cycle.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

One of the lookouts from the wall of the old city in Dubrovnik, Croatia

I’m extremely competitive, not just with other people but also with myself. Sometimes competitiveness and drive is good, and I have had some excellent improvements in my life from my desire to excel and improve, but I can also become a cruel, unkind person when totally driven by my desire to want to be the best at something no matter the cost. I try to reign this in and to re-orient my priorities, but there are so many societal pressures that instruct us, either explicitly or implicitly, to try to be the absolute best. This means different things for different people, but I suspect we all have some form of this being shoved into our faces and down our throats. It can be difficult to fight against these messages and pressures, and it can seem appealing and attractive to respond with fervor to them; to rise up and ‘be stronger’ or ‘better’ or whatever adjective applies to your own context. (Smarter...prettier...thinner…wealthier …etc.)

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

Practicing the art of balance along an abandoned rock beach in Dubrovnik

I’m tempted to think of strength simply as perseverance—as the act of using the mental equivalent of pure brute force to press on and push through whatever difficulty might arise. I’m tempted to think of strength as ‘getting shit done’ even when you feel like lying in bed.

But, when I’m honest with myself, I submit that this sort of strength isn’t really strength at all but a means of maintaining the illusion of control so to appear strong to people around me. It’s a clever façade; and, at least for me, it’s driven mostly by pride and by fear. It becomes something that is attainable and even measureable (‘are you getting shit done, or aren’t you? You are? Okay, then you’re good.’) and I love any semblance of numerical validity to assure me that I’m doing alright. (‘But look at all these boxes I checked off my to do list this afternoon; I must be fine!’) This is task-oriented drivenness; I’m not convinced it is strength. At least it’s not the degree/depth/expression of strength I want to strive for.

There are moments in life where this ‘brute force’ is helpful. It’s been great for me that can meet my deadlines even though I feel like shit and like the world has no meaning and like I’d rather be dead. (This happens more frequently than I’d like to admit to.) It’s been incredibly convenient that I can continue to check off the boxes of my never-ending to do lists. But I don’t think this is necessarily ‘strength.’ I think strength may be something different.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

The skull speaks of durability and mortality; the carnation of fragility and impermanence.
Taken at a museum in Amsterdam.

I’ve begun to conceptualise strength as something that isn’t just perseverance (though, to be sure, that has its merits) but as mindful recognition of the present-reality—no matter the reality—and making intentional, even if small, steps toward positive change. Sometimes that begins with my recognising that I feel weak and shitty and hopeless and like life is meaningless. Sometimes that very recognition of weakness is the first step/sign of strength.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

I think strength is learning to come to terms with who you are rather than simply trying to become a version of yourself that fits society's standards of success. I love this moment in The Fantastic Mr. Fox when Ash celebrates his "little-ness" and even turns it around to being a means to success.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

Here are some of the strongest phrases that come to mind as I write this.  This list is neither exhaustive or perfect.

“I don’t know.”
“I’ve not heard/thought of that before.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“I’m doubting the things I used to believe.”
“I feel sad/lonely/dejected.”
“I’m sorry for the way I acted.”
“I don’t understand xyz, but I love you.”

The strength of these phrases comes from both their willingness to be vulnerable and open, and their admittance of uncertainty. They defy the version of strength that is sometimes forced down our throats by society. You probably know the kind of strength I’m referring to; you might strive for it.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

A public memorial space in Berlin, Germany

I love this line from one of my friend’s songs. Madi Smith writes, “I got myself together. Yeah, I know who I am. At least, I’ve found most of the pieces, and I piece them as best I can.” You can listen to it here. I love Madi's music, and I love this line in particular because it recognises the broken, mosaic-like identity that humans have; it speaks to finding our identity in the midst of that. Mosaics are beautiful when we allow them to be seen; so much more so than putting up a front of ‘I have this totally together and everything is figured out and I am fine, la la la.’

It is incredibly strong to admit that one feels weak.
It is incredibly strong to admit hesitation or uncertainty.
It is incredibly strong to be okay with the place you are in, and to work from there, wherever 'there' is.

Brene Brown, perhaps one of the most well-known researchers on shame and meaningful living, has been researching on this topic for well over a decade, and she can speak to this topic with far more detail than I can. You might want to check out her book/s or one of her youtube clips--maybe this one or this one are good starting points. I find her work to be very inspirational.

I spend a lot of time thinking about what it means to be strong.

Perspective is absolutely everything; here, I'm tinier than a blade of grass. 

I could keep writing on and on about my thoughts on strength. Firstly, because I am impeccably long-winded and secondly, because I am a perfectionist and I’m afraid of posting this before I’ve revised and analysed and edited the heck out of it to find any holes in my argument or fix any ‘weak points.’ (I hate, hate HATE appearing weak or flawed.) But I’m going to post this as it is now. (Partly because I need to get to the library and work on my PhD, but more so because I am truly trying to embrace acceptance of where I am at.) These are some of the thoughts I have right now; this is the place I’m in and the spot I’m trying to breathe in and exist in. It isn't perfected, but I am trying to be at home with it.

I suspect the logic presented here is not perfect. You can probably find and latch on to a hole or a flaw without much difficulty. But, if I may, maybe the better way to exist in our beautiful broken world is to latch on to whatever you find that is good and inspiring, and to go on from there. If you have any thoughts you want to make heard, feel free to comment below, or feel free to message me. I’d be happy to hear them.