Tremendum et fascinosum

Our congregation had a discussion about the Advent Conspiracy the other day. The general idea is that the Church should move away from the consumerism that hides the true meaning of Christmas. Our congregation, faithful Episcopalians, adherents to high, high worship, focused the discussion on the shopping mall’s early advertisement of the season, and were very upset that so few people understood that Christmas does not begin until December 25, lasting 12 days (as it strictly states somewhere, I am sure). This, they proclaimed, is when we should do all our decorating and celebrating. But, as I see it, this is just another way we lose the ‘true meaning’ of Christmas. To return to a spiritual celebration of G-d With Us would, in my mind, imply that we not only leave the falsity that consumerism creates, but that we would also acknowledge our tendency to create meaning through Church calendars and the codification of beliefs; a tremendum et fascinosum that bows to ceremony rather than the mystery and presence of G-d in our daily lives.

Through whose eyes?

“I wish you could see yourself through my eyes”, my husband assures me as I berate my body, compare my cup size, and generally degrade, offend, slur, and affront every conceivable part of my physical being. His wording makes me wonder whose eyes I do see myself through in these embarrassingly unflattering moments. I’d prefer to blame it on advertising, which survives on the psychology of creating insecurity. I did watch television yesterday for the first time in a modern-world eternity. I would also be happy to place the blame on men. My identity as a sexual being is nothing I can closet walking on Third Street after dark, where an astounding number of guys, strangers, find it appropriate to use the endlessly offensive word “cunt” to refer to me as a woman. Or even my best male friends, who do not talk about meeting women, but about meeting “pretty girls”, as if it were perfectly natural for them to dictate that standard. Though, another plausible source of this verbal mutilation I subject myself to all too often may be any other woman I have ever met. I am not sure I know a woman who has not commented on her weight or hair or teeth or toes with disapproval. It has led me to the conclusion that this is what we women do, and where we place our worth. None of us are good enough. If Suzy thinks she’s fat, then I must be a whale! And if Joan finds herself unattractive with those lips, then I must be the blandest person in the world! It becomes this balancing act; this way of finding my place in a delusional but still very hellish pecking order. So, of course, it is my own eyes that too willingly see the beauty in the many women of my life, but use it only to evaluate myself. How do I stop this? I can, at least, stop degrading myself in front of other women, in hopes that I play no part in spurring on this dialogue in their head. Can I stop putting emphasis on my physical attributes once and for all? I don’t think so. Not alone, at least.

Sometimes Shrek almost gets it...

A justification for passion

A friend asked me the other day why I like being a social worker and, in typical Renee fashion, I have been mulling over my response for a week now. My initial reply, taken a little aback, was that I like people. After those three words, my answer became awkwardly scripted. Perhaps it’s all the job interviews. I felt like I was giving an answer to my mother, fitting my passions into her expectations. I began to define what I do by success. True, I don’t think there is any field that yields such practical and life changing results as social work. Medicine, sure, they save lives, I guess. But I have created families. I have ended domestic violence. Of course that’s bullshit. But playing any small part in these outcomes fills me with pride. I like people. I remember everyone I have worked with (in my young and very short career). But to justify myself, I talk about what I have done for people. Even though I was talking to my friend, who was putting none of this on me, I was addressing my parents and my culture. I would rather be true to my passions than justify them.

“Success is an ugly thing. (People) are deceived by its false resemblances to merit.... They confound the brilliance of the firmament with the star-shaped footprints of a duck in the mud.”

― Victor Hugo

If I only could

Freedom

Not cynical, just very amused!

The interview process is a strange thing to consider. The power dynamics alone are bewildering. In my experience, it creates a situation wherein college educated, highly trained, perpetually lied to individuals compete for coveted positions of power whereby they can puppeteer the next round of employment-pleading peons. It works this way: You take a standard 9’’x14’’ sheet of (digital) paper, on which you showcase your most useful assets, things like $100,000 social clubs (pick any 4-year college) and an ability to generate, consolidate, appraise, or any other conglomeration of buzz-word-soup. You know...things that really highlight your value as a human being. You send this off to some unknown face, glowing blue in the light of their own computer-lit cubical. You hope that, by some act of the gods, you chose some word or reference that catches their attention, because it is in these empty details that choices seem to be made. I have been invited to interviews for such impressive reasons as my husband babysat a board members sons or I professed a certain denomination in a past life or, my favorite, the administrative assistant is also named Renee Smith. So you throw on an over priced business suit that makes you feel like Don Quixote in its impracticality to the needs you aim to meet as a social worker, and spout the most obsequious bullshit that comes to mind, sounding like a copious asshole. After you leave, you spend the next week or month (depending on the employer's sense of urgency or decency) re-living every detail of the experience, since your head is a proverbial clown car of self-doubts. Again and again you ask yourself, "Did I really try to fist bump the executive director?", but in reality, you are more concerned that you wont be considered for the position because you had the audacity to voice your concern that in every act of charity agencies like this 'commit', there lies the potential to undercut real social change. But not only are you 'ok' with this entire process, you thrive under it, because it judges you according to society's standards, which you have been raised to recognize and embrace. It beats the alternative of watching all you've worked for die away, even if that death is your only hope at real life.

Creativity takes trust