I Need a Beach!

I'm lying on the beach listening to the waves, soaking up heat, watching surfers battle their competition with occasional success, enjoying families as they play and bond and laugh. As I burrow my toes deep enough into the sand to feel coolness, I soak it all in and breathe. I am truly relaxed.

I find myself thinking everyone needs a beach, that, in fact, every state should have its own beach within a short and easy drive--at least the state that I live in.  I grumble to myself that a ten-hour drive should not be requisite to this feeling.

But I immediately talk myself out of such nonsense. I don't live in Southern California for a reason. Not everything about the locale elicits these same feelings of fondness. I am not a fan of traffic, the sheer numbers of people overwhelm me, the high crime rate and high natural disaster rate (I know this from the media) alarm me. Those things stress me out. When I visit Southern California, it is actually only on the beach that I feel relaxed, and even then not always. Sometimes the trained lifeguard that is me feels obsessive about the wave or the current or the negligent parent.

And then, as I think this through further, I realize there are plenty of places at home that provide a similar kind of relaxation: a canyon drive, that spot on the couch with a book or an iPad or a remote in my hand, an unscripted conversation and long walk with a friend.

As I lounge on the beach in my relaxed and contemplative state, I am left to conclude that it isn't necessarily the location that is truly important. The essential awareness is knowing ourselves well enough to orchestrate relaxation when we need it.  Simply knowing you need a beach is sometimes the equivalent of finding one.

Written 11 October 2015

Language Barriers

I am watching my sister teach a machine quilting class to seven Russian women, none of whom speak English. Likewise, she speaks no Russian. There is an interpreter, but even with her attempts to relay language there is chaos.

The women know the basics of the machine--sort of. Even while she sets up, though, there are many questions and multiple camera phones capture her every move.

She has no choice but to resort to pantomime. I detect some frustration, but only because I know her so well. The women just see a smile and patience.

While watching, I am also reading an email from my son, Seth. He has been in Korea one week after studying the language intensively for 9 weeks. It was not enough. He can understand very little and communicate even less. I sense in his emails a bit of frustration, although he doesn't admit it. I just know him.

I am reminded of the many times I have traveled and struggled communicating. Even now, I'm sitting in the quilt shop contemplating (writing about) my sister's struggle rather than venturing out in the city to encounter my own communication problems. I will tomorrow and the women will be very impressed by my independence and adventuresome spirit, but today I am postponing my own communication difficulties: how do I get to this place? How do I get back to my hotel? How much? Where am I? Which train?

Usually, a lack of communication is frustrating. Sometimes, though, it is enlightening. Funny how it stretches us. Even with the language difference and cultural difference, this group of women is laughing, smiling, learning, quilting, and growing. They are understanding...at least something. They are asking her to pose for pictures; they are nodding assent; they too are pantomiming. Communication, although fragmented and slow, is happening.

Language barriers naturally complicate communication, but sometimes we struggle communicating even when we speak the same language. Misunderstandings are more nuanced. We respond to tone, we are impacted by what is not said; we worry about intention and innuendo and feelings (usually our own).

Interestingly, much of this doesn't happen when there is a language barrier. We celebrate even the simplest communication. As I watch the quilting women "talk" and celebrate their success, I am struck by the idea that we ought to replicate this celebration even when speaking the same language. Perhaps if we celebrated communication, miscommunication would diminish. Perhaps if we paid more attention to when we got it right, rather than when we got it wrong, we would get more right. Perhaps we should take more joy in the simplicity of communication rather than getting bogged down by the complexity of language. Perhaps.

I will celebrate our success in effectively negotiating a price for these fashionable items!

Written 22 September 2015

To list? Or not?

It has become quite the trend to blog about lists (yep, this is me following that trend): 10 things to do (or never do); 10 signs of happiness (or unhappiness); 10 signs your spouse is cheating...

At least weekly--and I would surmise even more often than that--my social media threads suggest I read an article filled with numbered strategies on how to be better or happier or skinnier or more successful. Sometimes I read them; usually I do not.

Today my feed advertised an article, "10 Things Confident Women Never do." I didn't read it. I did, though, as a confident woman myself, ponder what might be on the list. I admit I even spent a moment composing what I believe should undoubtedly be the first item on the list: 1) a confident woman would never read a list of things confident women never do.

Looking for confirmation that you are confident is essentially a sign of insecurity. Reading a list of things confident women never do in order to strategize about how to be more confident doesn't seem a likely way to increase confidence. In fact, the list might make the non-confident woman feel less confident as she recognizes her behaviors on the list. Seems a vicious cycle. In a conspiracy theory mode of thinking: perhaps the list is in fact designed to keep readers who can only be described as insecure feeling ...  insecure (hence, keeping the demand for such an article alive and well).

As a confident woman/person (does it really matter if I am male or female?), I don't need reassurance that I conform to a list; I don't need evidence that I am actually secure. Not reading it, I believe, is a personal declaration of confidence.

But these kinds of lists bug me for other reasons as well: when advice becomes listable, reducible to a small number of must-dos (or don'ts), it generally becomes trite and useless. Case in point: David Letterman made for a career for himself, among other things, making top ten lists, lists that by their very mention invoke laughter. Lists that are nothing more than jokes. And why are they jokes? Because his writers find funny things to say? Of course. But on a deeper level, the very concept is laughable. Part of the humor is the formulaic claim that all things are reducible, listifiable, rateable, and static.

I do believe in some lists, though. Lists that are useful, lists that remind me what to buy, lists that prioritize my tasks for the day, or even lists of things I want to accomplish in my lifetime. In fact, I could be described as an "avid lister" in this regard, but I'm not really into digesting lists that are designed to make me feel good about myself, or bad about myself, or suspicious, or superior.

My current list!

Instead, I plan to focus my reading time on reading good literature, on books that compel me or articles that truly educate me. I may eventually compose an article listing my top ten reads...but probably not since I won't likely add that to my list of things I need to do.

Written August 9, 2015