Philosophy | 4 0 2

March 31, 2013

Day 127: Happy Day

Admittedly, I don’t go to church much anymore. I really enjoy connecting with the thing that connects all of us, but as I’ve gotten older I’ve enjoyed it more in nature and in meditation than in buildings and through structure. Time may shift me again, but I feel connected and content for now.

That said, I went to church today. The sermon was lovely. I felt welcomed and loved and totally free to find God in my own way.

Below are some sermon takeaways that I’d like to share.

1. Some people go to church once or twice per year because it has a cultural and historic place in their life. I’m one of those people and it’s okay to be a person like me. We’re still welcome.

2. Loving yourself, your family and the good people of the world is not enough love. Loving everyone—the bullies, the hurtful and violent ones, the lost and the mean—is closer to enough. The goal is all love all the time. And love is love, whether or not religion is part of your personal fabric.

3. Everyone thinks they have the best dad. The pastor told us a story about a friend whose daughters were arguing with their friends over who had the best dad (cute right?). The pastor explained that in listening to the recap of the argument, he felt everyone was right. Although the girls had different dads, they could each believe in the truth and best-ness of their own dads. The pastor told us that he believes in the truth of Jesus Christ and can proclaim him to be the one true savior, but that God’s mansion is a huge one, and there are many ways to enter into it. It’s okay to believe in your truth while honoring the truths of others.

4. New life is everywhere, all the time and in everyone. We are new every single day. Take advantage of it.

So, a very happy Easter to you.

Also, happy Passover.

And happy Cesar Chavez Day.

This picture always makes me think of “newness.”

March 29, 2013

Day 125: It’s Time

It’s time for many, many things. For spring, for gay people to be able to marry each other, for everyone to stop using plastic grocery bags and get a couple nice reusable ones (I mean, really…. it’s so easy), etc.

After approximately 47 days of thought, it’s also time for me to cut back on blogging. I hate the encroaching notion that I may have to send crappy content into the world just to follow my own blog-every-day rule. So, I’m changing the rule.

Part of me (most of me, really) views cutting back as a failure. I didn’t even make it halfway to 402 days.

Another, much, much smaller part of me views this for what it really is—a shift in priorities. When I started 402, I had just quit my full-time job to pursue self-employment. I wanted to write, so write I did.

Now, 125 days later, I’m up to my ears in contract work that I love, my friends all have adorable babies and puppies that I want to go visit, and I was accepted into the cast of a amazing show that goes up in June. We start intensive rehearsals in a couple of weeks, and I should probably focus on being a happy and sane employee, cast member, friend and human being.

(My life is not all sunshine and roses—I did lose a mitten yesterday.)

All this is not to say I’m quitting the blog. I’m just quitting the every day-ness of it. There are so many incredibly interesting people and ideas in the world, I won’t be able to stay away for more than a couple of days between posts. Rest assured that I will still flood your email inbox and Facebook feed.

For now, enjoy a beautiful weekend with someone (or a few people) you really like being around. Share some hugs. Punch some shoulders (lovingly).

See you in a few days.

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March 26, 2013

Day 122: Whatever Works

I try to steer clear of politics on here, because people become incredibly polarized incredibly quickly. But to me, marriage isn’t about politics. It’s about family—about making a commitment to being a family with another human being.

Here are four reasons I support gay marriage:

1. Marriage of any kind builds community. The U.S. gives families opportunities to care for each other in ways individuals cannot. In this glorious and frightening age of digital connectivity, we should celebrate any two individuals who choose to connect to each other in person and through law.

2. I want my friends to have every legal right that I have, even if some of us never choose to act on those rights.

3. Gay marriage doesn’t hurt anyone (or anything). Traditions live within the individuals who uphold them, not in how many people are included or excluded.

4. I’m nearly certain we have other pressing matters to discuss. Education, health, the environment, economics—no matter where you land on these topics, they seem like a bigger deal than a couple of folks trying to tie the knot.

“That’s why I can’t say enough times, whatever love you can get and give, whatever happiness you can filch or provide, every temporary measure of grace—whatever works.”
– Boris Yellnikoff in Whatever Works

March 25, 2013

Day 121: Still Small Voice (For Michele)

One of my college dance mentors, forever advocates and friends was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. Michele has been teaching at my alma mater for over twenty years and currently directs the college’s dance program.

Last weekend was the school’s 25th annual spring dance concert. To celebrate, I joined 27 other alumni to perform alongside the current students throughout the weekend. It was an amazing experience, and I had the pleasure of connecting with Michele while in town.

As she is publicly sharing her journey with breast cancer, this is my public letter to her.

Dear Michele,

You are an inspiration.

Your transparency about your experience is refreshing, poignant and, of course, educational (you’ve always been a master of research, as I remember from taking your Dance History class). But even in the midst of this highly unnerving and body-altering experience—and barely a week after your mastectomy—I witnessed you supporting others throughout the entire dance concert weekend.

You let the students know you were okay and turned the focus onto them. You sent them good-luck letters, emails and notes, and you congratulated them on their beautiful dance pieces and performances. You met their parents and told them how much their daughters and sons had grown. You came to every show. You connected the students to the alumni and you laughed with all of us. You hugged us and told us it was okay to hug you. You found your inspiration and you shared it with us.

Your dedication to the art of dance and the even finer art of educating others is clear in how you approach “life hiccups” like breast cancer. You study, you listen to your body, you teach others how to listen to their bodies and you push forward. The dance department has grown leaps and bounds (and swings and pirouettes) since I graduated nine years ago. And while it has been a group effort on behalf of many talented, intelligent and dedicated professors, you are the glue that holds everyone’s experiences together.

On behalf of all those who have learned from you, thank you for teaching us how to dance and why to love it. Thank you for connecting us to each other and for helping us find our places. Thank you for showing us the balance between acceptance and fight, pain and joy, weight and release.

In reply to the student’s father who told you yesterday that he was sorry to hear about your diagnoses, you said, “You know, we just keep moving.” So, although I know I’ll see you many, many times before then, I’m very much looking forward to the dance company’s 50th Anniversary bonanza.

Love,

Ashleigh

P.S.

A photo of a photo by Stan Waldhauser.

In 2003, you gave me the first solo I ever danced, called Still Small Voice.

Your program notes:

“Our reading of the women’s stories lead us to conclude that as a woman becomes more aware of the existence of inner resources for knowing and valuing, as she begins to listen to the ‘still small voice’ within her, she finds an inner source of strength.”
– Belenky et. al., Women’s Ways of Knowing

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March 18, 2013

Day 114: Time is A Stinker

Time is both our great protector and our worst nemesis. It heals and moves us when nothing else will do.

Over a month ago, I naively blogged about how spring was nearly upon us in the Midwest. The four weeks between then and now have flown by and somehow gone excruciatingly slow.

I live where I do because I love the people, the arts and the drama of the seasons. Summer is easygoing and muggy, fall is crisp and colorful, winter is long and horrendous, and spring smells like pure happiness.

But our collective patience is wearing thin and the ever-nice locals are getting noticeably edgy. Snowstorms are usually followed by amiable shrugs, reaches for shovels and boots, and drawls of, “Ya know, it sure looks pretty.” This morning’s snowstorm was barely acknowledged, aside from a slightly crazed look behind my favorite barista’s eyes and a half-baked warning to take it easy on the roads.

And I get it. I feel it, too. I ran an errand after work today and when I got back to my car, it looked like this:

I laughed and took a picture, because it seemed so sad and dirty. Two minutes later, I tried laughing again but I cried instead. My dirty door was iced shut, and I somehow managed to clean the entire side of it with my body as I flailed to the ground trying to get in.

So, my dear time. I honor and love you. I will continue to be patient with you as I take a hot bath and ice my elbows. But just know that we’re all counting on you to do your bidding. Heal the season and please give us a new one soon.

Category: Philosophy