I will, but I can’t December 8, 2008

Much like the Superbowl, I watch the Hallmark movies on CBS entirely for the commercials. I am genuinely disappointed by fleeting commercial breaks that are few and far between. But when they do come around, they are the most gut-wrenching, beautifully sentimental, tear-invoking moments that only the perfect greeting card can redeem.

Last night was different because the movie itself was just as good as the commercials. It followed a teacher, Brad Cohen, who has Tourette’s syndrome but once finally accepted to teach at a school, made an incredible impact on his students. It was particularly inspiring  to me because my sister is a teacher and I see the incredible effect she has on students and it really is a job with a lot of power to change the world.

The reason that Cohen became a teacher was because when he was a young boy in school, the principal taught him to embrace his disease. This principal explained that the other kids in school thought he was weird only because they were ignorant. So he educated the children, and they accepted him. Cohen took that same approach and applied it to his teaching philosophy. He educated his students about everything, encouraged them to ask questions,and would not allow them to be ignorant.

One line from the movie struck me in particular. It was something to the effect that the difference between children and adults is that children say “I will” when adults say “I can’t”. I thought that was so interesting and true, unfortunately. When we are children, we think we can take on the world. If someone challenges our ability to do something, we respond with a “Why not?”. We feel like we have all the time in the world to accomplish whatever we want. When we grow up, though, reality sets in and we realize how short life is and how limited we are. But what if we didn’t think that way? What if we proceeded as if we could achieve anything? Just proceeding in that way, it would not matter a whole heck of a lot if we actually did achieve everything. The fact that we believe we could some time in the future gives us hope, and that hope can carry us to do even better (though different) things.

Vieni qua! December 7, 2008

I spent last semester studying in Milan, Italy and it was quite possibly the most inspiring four months I have yet to live in this life. I cannot quite explain what it was, but being constantly surrounded by newness and doing something completely uncharacteristic of me (risking my comfort zone) was quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever done. And it changed me in a lot of ways (in a good way).

I lived about a ten minute walk from where I went to school, so every morning I made my way through the bustling, cigarette smoke-filled, Italian-lined, gorgeous streets of Milan. One morning I remember in particular. I was walking along behind a mother and her two children, a brother and sister. They were both about the same age and they ran down the street hand in hand. Their mother trailed behind them wheeling her vintage bicycle, complete with designer purse in its basket. The two children would run ahead from their mother, giggling all the way. The mother yelled,
“Alberto! Vieni qua!” (Alberto! You come here!). And like every breath of the Italian language it rang in my ears and my heart, delighting the part of me that longs for it to inhabit my own mind and tongue.

She kept yelling down the street, “Alberto! Alberto!” and he would continue to run ahead with his sister and come back to his mother again. What struck me most about her was that she was not getting upset, but rather with each chastisement she also expelled an exuberant laugh. It was as if she were recognizing herself in her children.

Is there really some point where we become completely unrecognizable from the self of our youngest years? I would say yes, but only in the most unfortunate cases. That is not to say that change is a bad thing, I actually have more to say on that later. But there is something that is essentially “us” and should never be lost. This something is that which has been with us since we’ve been on this earth. And that is why I think it is so important to remember that we should always be able to recognize ourselves.

That Italian woman taught me quite a lot in my short walk that morning.

Identity and Language December 3, 2008

Two Sundays ago at mass the homily was particularly inspiring and insightful (something that happens probably a lot more often than I recognize). But it really hit me well because it appealed to a lot of the things I think about life and also in something I had thought about for this blog.

The readings for the day spoke of who would and who would not be welcomed into the kingdom of heaven, depending on how each lives his or her life. For purposes of the manner in which it is best to live your life, this can be applied to any faith, I think. The priest took this theme and applied it to the idea of identity. The discussion was very fruitful for me.

He remarked how important it is to understand identity. Most often and most evident are cultural identities, those which set apart and also bring together different people from different parts of the world. The most obvious differnce between people from different cultures is language. Language has always fascinated me, I wonder what it really is saying. To some degree it is very complicated, but at its foundations it is so natural that it cannot be that complicated. We learn language as children just from being around people employing it. There isn’t a real study involved (besides further grammatical clarifications in grade school). But essentially, language is something we all come to know intimately just by participating. 

What I got from the homily was that the best way to live on this earth is to learn the language of love. And not just learn its grammatical intricacies, but instead to completely inhabit the words. As children we usually just say what we think, and it is without any walls. We are not worried about saying the wrong thing, because we really only see one way to say things best. I imagine what it’s like when you truly fall in love. When you love someone, the best way to tell them is just to say “I love you.” People often remark about the power of three little words, and it is so true.

Sometimes as we grow older, however, I think we start to believe we need more words. We have this desire to be heard and to explain ourselves. But if we are able to completely inhabit a few words that mean a lot, then there will be no need to hide behind all the others. By engaging in this language of love, then we can all create an identity that can place us amongst everyone. It breaks down the barriers between people that speak English, Spanish, Italian, Japanese, or what have you.

Grocery shopping with Grandma November 16, 2008

A couple of days ago I took my grandmother to the grocery store. I learn something new every time I spend time with this woman and I doubt she has any idea that she is teaching me.

She has the heart and soul of a true child. Hers is the kind of soul tarnished only by the wisdom of her 83 years. Otherwise, it is completely new and full of life. The night before, she had just been released from the hospital after about a week of tests and she could not have been more thrilled to get out. She has been admitted several times in the past few years due to her heart, but I swear it beats stronger and lighter each time she comes home. Each time she threatens to escape her eighth floor hospital room and start walking home, and that is funny because she is actually serious.

Everytime I visit her or speak to her I watch her in amazement and hope that I can grow up to have half the wisdom she has. Her past is interesting, because she grew up on a farm in rural Nebraska where she had little time to be a child because she was too busy working and taking care of all her siblings. She did not get the chance to go to high school because of the work she had to do. The woman I see now is one who has not allowed herself to be hardened by this loss of a childhood. Instead, she has embraced the opportunity to regain it now in her later years.

And maybe that’s better. She has done a lot of living and seen a lot of things, and now she is more ready than ever to embrace the little things in this life. What strikes me most is her faith. She is a strong Catholic and always has been, and her almost blind, unceasing faith in the Lord is like that of a child. It is innocent and completely without obstacle, and it is not that she is gullible. She has faced many trials in this life and had many more chances than any of us to give up on the Lord.

I am definitely not one to encourage blind acceptance of beliefs, I absolutely advocate questioning everything so that you know what you really think and make your beliefs your own. That being said, once we get over the questioning, we have to adopt something. We have to stand for something. And that cannot be done by just proclaiming your identity as a believer, it has to be pursued and backed by the enthusiasm and fervor that we all showed as children towards something. Likely, much of the enthusiasm of our pasts was directed towards our future. Our project now must be to direct it toward our present.

Not Just a Twig November 11, 2008

Thanks to a tip from a professor, I discovered that recently a new toy was inducted into the National Toy Hall of Fame. I found this article from the Boston Globe covering the story of the stick’s rise to the top of the list of the most treasured toys.

The article cites its simplicity and cost-effective nature, but what really struck me was the idea that part of what was great about the stick was that there were no rules, no assembly required sort of thing. The same is true of a past inductee, the cardboard box. Oh the simplicity we have left behind.

I have always been a by-the-rules kind of girl. I always obeyed my teachers and parents, followed any directions given me, and colored inside the lines because I didn’t want to get in trouble and maybe because I felt this pressure to not disappoint. But sometimes I wish I weren’t so much like that. I think we all probably do to some degree. There are so many rules absolutely worth breaking (of course while still considering any moral implications) and that is another thing that incorporated into adutlhood would send us all to the heart of who we really are.

I feel there needs to be some point where we make our own rules. By doing this we can take what seems to be nothing (similar to the stick or the cardboard box) and make it our own, make it something that has the power to change our reality. As I am growing older and taking more responsibility for the course of my life, I find I am gaining more courage to break some rules, take some chances, and venture every part of me just so that I can gain something.

Interesting thought: a branch must break in order to make a stick.