Mr. Mike

In what follows is a story about the second individual in the series, "Being True to Thyself." In case you want to be caught up to speed, start with the series introduction: All the World is a Stage; the Good, Bad, and the Ugly. Then read up on the first person, Lindsey, and see how she is a warrior woman who dares to be herself.

This is Mr. Mike, a knight. Not the sort awarded by a monarch. This individual is brave, courageous, and strong in a different way.

He is not picture perfect, without flaw, blemish, or imperfection.

He is a man whose experiences have molded and sculpted him into who he is today. Though conscientious and anxious about what others might think, he utilizes what he has weathered in life to listening to others and to guide people in helpful and tangible ways.

Does that sound a bit too ordinary? Not extraordinary enough?

Let us take a closer look.

He once was an impressionable, younger man who went to great lengths to hide his anxious, scared, and nervous self behind an understanding, kind, and confident mask, He went to great lengths to hide his true self: he drank, befriended the popular crowd in school, rode aback a motorcycle.

The mask he chose to wear in those early days was to appear kind, confident, understanding, and caring; all while feeling scared and anxious inside.

Those were not his best of times.

***

Fast forward some.

He has discovered that what was once a mask worn with the intent of deceiving or at least covering up the nervous and uncertain little boy was not all for the worse.

Learning to listen and processing what others shared have given him the opportunity to offer substantive, helpful suggestions to others. Instead of focusing on his own shortcomings or concerns, Mr. Mike has been able help others.

***

These days, he wears his mask not just to hide, but to offer a listening ear or lending hand to others. He wants others to know who he is; so, he is willing to risk the dangerous and reveal who he truly is: wise, caring, with a bit of anxiousness and concern mix into the bundle. That is Mr. Mike. He dares to be himself.

Lindsey

With the spirit of encouraging and inspiring everyone out there to become acquainted with oneself and learn to be comfortable and accepting of oneself, I have started a series, "Being True to Thyself," wherein I will include snapshots of individuals who dare to be themselves, imperfections and all, and are becoming stronger, full-of-life people.

Lindsey is the first individual in my series.

This is Lindsey, a warrior woman. She takes courage in expressing her feelings and thoughts in conversations and in art, some between people and some in art form.

In many aboriginal cultures as well as other groups, tattoos were not seen as a deviance or fringe to be avoided, but it was a badge of honor to be earned, a rite of passage.

For Lindsey, tattoos express points of significance, whether regarding (remarkable) approaches to life...

 or pieces that invite us to hear more about her story.

These visible tattoos are  a peek into who this warrior woman is. She has dared to investigate, introspect, and ask hard questions of the world and of herself. She has trudged through painful, difficult, muddy circumstances, to grow and to help others.

This beautiful warrior woman fights important battles; by defending the under privileged and wading past preconceived notions, stifling stereotypes, and unrealistic expectations.

All the World Is a Stage; the Good, Bad, and the Ugly

All the world is a stage, and with that comes the good, bad, and the ugly.

We choose to wear masks every day.

The Good

Choosing to reveal only part of the self, or wearing a particular mask, isn't always bad. The purpose of putting on a mask does not always have to be manipulative or deceitful.

That we wear particular masks can be important and good. Bringing the focused, well organized part of the self into a task-centered, efficient work place, for example, is beneficial to one's career and fruitful performance.

The Bad

For whatever reasons, sometimes we wear masks not well suited for the tasks at hand. Growing up, I got in trouble at school for bringing my talkative self or my day-dreaming self into the classroom. Wearing the wrong masks can be disruptive and counterproductive to the self and surrounding individuals.

Those sorts of masks, which may be a very real part of a person, are better suited in other circumstances.

The Ugly

But, sometimes we wear masks to hide or cover up something from ourselves or from others.

There can be a variety of reasons for wearing masks with the intent to deceive. I will not presume I have the ability to comprehend or identify with the plethora of reasons for that. I am guessing one main driving incentive includes pain or trauma.

But, what if coming to terms with that pain or trauma, within manageable and safe conditions, helps a person be less of a shell but more of a robust, interesting individual?

I will dare to step into the controversial (dangerous, I know) and say that we don't have to be perfect; limit ourselves only to what others expect us to do; or deny pain, difficulties, or trauma we have endured or are experiencing. Instead, we should be true to ourselves.

Be True to Thyself

To be true to thyself takes experience, courage, critical self-reflection, and support (whether friends, family, or other well-informed sources).

Learning about aspects of oneself can be painful, like tearing a freshly-formed scab off of very, not-yet-healed raw skin. Truly being oneself, however, can filled with opportunities for insight, growth, and hope.

I am starting a series, which shall be titled 'Being True to Thyself,' which will include snapshots of real lives, where people dare to be true to themselves. Not all my future posts will belong to this series, but there will, hopefully, be plenty to come. If you know someone - woman, man, child, young adult, older individual, you, from whatever walk of life - who dares to be true to herself or himself, whose story could encourage others, please send me an e-mail or message me.

For the Love of Brick and Mortar Independent Bookstores

This bookstore has a little cafe at the front of the store, by those huge windows. There are multiple comfortable seating areas and nooks, so people can sit comfortably and look at books. There is plenty of walking space and arm space, even if people sit on the floor next to the bookcases. This bookstore still boasts plenty of books, from the floor to near the ceiling. This place has complementary wi-fi. It is independently owned, not just another chain store.

Though I am careful about where my money goes and how it is spent, I would spend a bit extra to support the independently owned bookstores who work hard to serve the community and have a history of supporting and defending its patrons valiantly.

And, on my way out of the store, I saw a line formation set-up, ready for a book signing later. Not that I am scoping out for possible locations for when the book is published and rolling.

Rain Will Produce Success and Flourishing

Rain can blur visibility or create a huge mess (when non-stop for a prolonged amount of time), but rain also provides needed sustenance for life.

It seems as if I am a jack of many trades, but a master of none. I have learned to do many things I would have never thought myself figuring out how to do. And passing time adds more to the list of trades I must figure out how to complete. Being a master of none is disconcerting, not so much because my identity is intimately tied to being master of something or anything, but more so because monetary stability and success requires such.

Or, so I thought.

I am slow at learning that what I thought would be my life career may not look quite like what I had envisioned; and, I am gradually realizing that that is okay. The skills that were and are being refined, sharpened, and perfected, are still vital to the work I do, just in a different way.

My ability to see how things will look is not crystal clear; I can make out just enough to tell that what will happen will produce flourishing. I suppose that will have to do for now.

Riddle Me This: Where Did Sally's Lunch Go?

One morning, a parent takes out lunchboxes out of the refrigerator for her children to take to school. Each rectangular lunchbox has a larger compartment and a smaller compartment. On this particular morning, a sandwich is in the larger compartment, and fresh strawberries (which are cut-up) and blueberries are in the smaller compartment. Cut-up honeydew is in the separate compartment, but that is not part of the puzzle; so, we shall not mention the separate (which appears purple in the photograph below) compartment again. After making sure the lids are securely fastened on to each container, the parent, let us call her 'Mama', places the children's containers into each of the two children's lunch bags, which are resting on the kitchen table.

Mama steps away from the kitchen for approximately 20 minutes, while the children - whom we shall call 'Sally' and 'Indigo' - are supposed to be getting ready for school. They have to get dressed, go to the bathroom, brush their hair, put their snacks, water bottles, and lunches into their own backpacks, and set their backpacks and jackets by the door. On this particular morning, they are also rushing to get some writing done before breakfast.

***

Mama has finished getting ready for the day and hears commotion from the girls. She finds out that most of the sandwich (the sandwich meat, cheese, and most of the white on the bread) and all of the strawberries and blueberries are gone from the 8 1/2 year old's (Sally's) lunch bag, which is still sitting on the kitchen table.

Nothing has been eaten or taken out of the 7 year old's (Indigo's) lunch bag. And, Indigo has already placed her lunch bag inside her backpack and put the backpack by the door.

***

Sally is upset that her lunch is gone. She adamantly claims that she had nothing to do with the disappearance of her lunch.

Indigo also insists she (Indigo) did not touch her sister's lunch.

***

There is no way the family pets: one kitten (who is nearly a cat) and one young cat, could have opened the lid and eaten the contents. Take this as a given (fact).

***

Sally, on occasion, has been known to tell only a part of the truth (leaving out vital parts of the story) or flat out lie. However, regarding food, Sally is usually honest.

Indigo has, on a few occasions, secretly eaten food in the kitchen without permission and lied about not eating the missing food and blaming the missing food on the cats or claiming ignorance. In those circumstances, there was evidence that Indigo had, in fact, eaten certain foods in question. For these reasons, Indigo has been told that she is not supposed to go to the kitchen unattended.

Also important to note is that from time to time, Indigo might say something about someone that is not necessarily true. Whether this is intentional or not is not known. Sally has also been known to say something that does not reflect the truth, though not intentionally.

***

Uncertain who ate the lunch, Sally or Indigo, and who is lying, Mama decides to smell the breath of each child. Indigo's breath does not smell like anything in particular but stinks of morning breath. Sally's breath smells like berries.

Seems like the answer is obvious.

When Mama confronts Sally, Sally's reaction was so strong and she was quite offended. She said something to the effect of, "My head does not usually feel this uncomfortable or my stomach this unsettled after I have eaten. Explain that."

With the Mama's severe allergies and the fact that olfactory senses have been limited, there is the possibility that her sense of smell could have misled her. So, Mama asks Indigo to smell Sally's breath."

Indigo claims Sally's breath smells like blueberries. With the concern that Indigo sometimes lies or does not tell the truth, Mama asks to smell both of the girls' breaths yet again. This time Mama asks each child to blow in her (Mama's) face. Same results - Indigo's breath does not smell aromatic but does not smell of anything in particular. With much resistance and protest, Sally finally blows her breath onto Mama's face. Still smells like berries.

Sally is angry and frustrated that she is allegedly being blamed for something she did not do.

***

What happened to Sally's lunch? What would you (putting yourself in the position of Mama) do in this situation?

How Fulfilling Jury Duty Obligations Shocked Me

What bothered me about being summoned was NOT the fact that I was bored.

I was not bored.

The process, though tedious, was well-organized. Some fifty of us prospective jurors were assembled and instructed on how the process would go. After we were all signed in and the witnesses for the case were advised on what to expect (in a separate room from the prospective jurors), we were ushered into a different room for more directions and instructions. Then, through random selection, eight prospective jurors, at a time, were chosen to answer the same set of questions, juror by juror. I was in that first group of prospective jurors randomly chosen. 

After listening to each of eight prospective jurors answer the list of questions, the attorneys on each side had to agree upon which jurors to use. The attorneys were able to agree upon six of the eight prospective jurors in the first group called up.

I was one of the chosen six.

The process of signing in to jury selection took a lengthy two and a half hours.

What bothered me was NOT the fact that spending three days listening to the trial was inconvenient.

I would be lying if I did not admit that taking two full days and half a third day did not cause a disruption to my already hectic daily schedule. I haven't mastered being two places at once. As a result of two and a half days devoted to being a juror, I am quite behind.

There were also some other matters that were of tremendous concern. Thanks be to God, several wonderful friends were available and helped in fulfilling and completing those matters.

I must admit that long hours of paying attention to all the words spoken, body language expressed, and laws presented had no small impact in my exhaustion and mood.

What Shocked Me Were Two Things

1. How nasty adult quarrels/fights are and how costly the fights end up being.

Perhaps I should not at all be shocked or surprised by this. But I was impacted deeply by this. As much as I tried to put the matters out of my mind whilst not in session and at home for the night, I felt nauseated and uneasy.

Everyone fights, children and adults alike. But, adult quarrels can be quite nasty and costly.

2. Some attorneys reinforce the (sometime erroneous) reputation attorneys have for twisting and manipulating the truth.

One attorney in the case could easily be diagnosed as histrionic, with his boisterous yelling, wild hand gesturing, and sometimes jumping up and down and slamming his hand on the podium.

In between and throughout the trial, the same aforementioned attorney was blatantly throwing out fallacies of all sorts - red herrings, ad hominems, appeals to pity, and all kinds of other fun stuff - as 'evidence' of how the opposing side was wrong and should suffer penalties.

I am thankful all the fellow jury members were sensible and focused on what both parties accepted as facts, the exhibits, the testimonies, and applicable law. We were able to come to unanimous decisions with ease (and careful attention to details).

***

When all was said and done and the verdict was recorded in court, all the jurors, men and women alike, were ready to disappear and blend into the crowd. We were all a bit fearful for our safety.

Now that the case is over, I am ready for my decadent coffee.

And I am ready to jump in puddles, muddy or not.

Is Enjoying Higher Sugar Fruit Really THAT Bad?!

Nine years ago or so, a total stranger stopped me dead in my tracks, as I was on my way to my office after teaching (or maybe it was the other way around - I was on the way to a classroom to teach), eating a banana.

The stranger was fast to offer unsolicited advice: "Do you know that bananas are high in sugar? You should eat an apple instead."

I am aware that people are full of opinions that they believe are wise pieces of advice, not mere streams of consciousness. But, I was taken a bit by surprise. It wasn't as if I was trying to polish off a huge decadent cake in one fell swoop. I was snacking on a banana.

***

Moments ago, I was partaking on strawberries, blueberries, and mango I prepared last night. The fruit is not marinating in confectioner's sugar, honey, or some other sweetener. It is just naked fruit. If enjoying fruit is the beginning of the end of my health and well-being, there are worse ways to go.

Clouded Vision and Gaining Clarity

I didn't mind the wet, blurry windshield. I found it beautiful.

That would not have been a welcome sight, had I been maneuvering in my vehicle.

That got me to thinking about how this clouded vision is akin to a couple of matters in my life: my profession and the fiction novel I am currently writing.

A Profession, an Occupation

I went through the requisite schooling to become an academic. I thought I was paving the road to becoming an academic. Life circumstances and desert conditions of academia have forced me to revisit what I will do with my education and my life.

Not that I will never be an academic.

But now, I am realizing that my focused educational background plays a crucial role in other ways: public speaking and writing (not limited to academic endeavors).

I am going into uncharted, unfamiliar territories. Making my own path is not necessarily a symptom of failure; playing an active role in shaping my profession is okay.

Writing this Novel

The process of writing has been excited, adventurous, frustrating, slow, intense, sometimes dry and thwarted, complete with a steep learning curve.

There have been times where my writing has stalled or stopped completely for one reason or another. The longer the period between writing, the more doubtful I sometimes grow in the project I am endeavoring to complete.

Insofar as writing is concerned, what has worked best for me is setting a schedule for completion. For awhile, I had stopped writing according to any schedule. What will be most helpful for the time being, is to commit to revising a chapter a week. Working to complete that goal, rather focusing on how cluttered, hectic, and demanding my daily schedule is, will help.

"I don't watch movies. They lie."

We were supposed to state what we considered "Best Movie Ever!" Could not help but notice the comment "I don't watch movies! They lie."

Surveying the reaction to that response, people seemed a bit put off that someone would write that. Movies tell stories, narratives.

What makes me curious is the story behind the comment. What contributed or influenced the person to write, "I don't watch movies! They lie." This inquiring mind wants to know.

My Love-Hate Relationship with Nature

A person once asked me, "Why don't you like flowers?"

There is no chance I do not like flowers.

Hands down, spring is one of favorite seasons. Beauty comes alive in nature, after being dormant for a season. Butterflies and bees emerge. It is a wonderful sight to behold.

As breath-taking a sight as it is to behold, my body reacts in opposition: the eye irritation, the stye that has paid an uninvited visit, the tender and blocked sinuses in my face, the stopped up nose, the fatigue.

Forgive me if, after moments of enjoying nature, I seek refuge to prevent further pain and suffering from my body's adverse reaction to everything that moves in nature.

The Path to Success is not always what it seems

Sometimes the cost (of success) is physical, impacting one's limbs, in more ways than one.

Oftentimes the impact is not only skin deep.

Perhaps questioning or doubting one's skills in the related fields; experiencing cut-throat, merciless competition; working extra long hours and still wondering whether one will succeed.

If someone had told me that being successful would also include feelings or experiences of betrayal, mistrust, angst, loneliness, isolation, or anxiety, I do not think I would run to the front of the line to sign up for the punches.

On the flip side, if someone told me that my difficult, gut-wrenching experiences have a significant role to play in the success of what I am and will be doing, I would view my past experiences in a different light.

I am not usually one to ask any 'why me' questions.

And, I try to look to see how my experiences, however painful and isolating they may seem, are opportunities for me to grow as well as situations in which I can help others.

If some of my circumstances took place to pave the way for success, the pain feels different, the interpretations of those experiences change, and the forwards goal steals the stage.

Cheers to success!

The Grouchy Butterfly

Plenty of life's worthwhile experiences come with difficulties, struggles, and pain.

Training and Pain

Cutting teeth. I still have memories of itching gums and experiencing pain from new teeth emerging (through the gums).

Figuring out how to read. Sounding out letters, putting together sounds, and attempting to pronounce words, is maddening, when one wants to be able to read and speak right away. After learning to pronounce words and read sentences, more obstacles come. One has to figure out what sentences collectively are communicating. Learning to read is not cake.

Training for a sport. I remember years of tennis lessons, camps, private lessons, practicing. Running suicides, strength training, learning to shuffle from base line to base line, running forwards and backwards from the mid-line to the base line, training the body (and hand-eye) coordination to hit balls to particular spots on the court involved a lot of sweat, sheer exhausting effort, and dedication.

Learning to play an instrument. I started taking piano lessons when I was four and a half years old and continued through high school (and then some private piano for credit at the university). Practicing scales and arpeggios, finding ways to effectively and beautifully play through trouble spots in pieces, minding dynamics, working on playing technique was boring, frustrating, painful, at times.

Learning about oneself and maturing as a person is no cup of tea. I am giving a talk on identity tonight. There is too much to be said to include a concise summary here. Suffice to say that truly learning about oneself, to start; takes patience, discerning, self-reflection.

All for Something Better

We invite and endure such struggle and pain, with the expectation that the finished product is well worth the investment.

With teeth, we can enjoy so many more varieties of deliciously tasty food.

With the ability to read, we are less limited and have so much more access to the world.

There is something to be said about mastering a sport. By 'mastering' a sport, I don't mean becoming a world-famous athlete. In the process of immersing oneself in a sport well, one has to take care of the body in many ways: eating well, looking after the heart through cardiovascular training, toning one's muscles, training the mind to work with the body. A person's body is being refined and molded.

As for music, I have so much fondness associated with music. Though the years of practicing and competing were tough on different levels, the diligent effort has allowed me to express myself through music (and other arts), be an accompanist, and enjoy communicating through music.

Regarding personal growth and maturity, I am not afraid to identify or examine my feelings. That is not to say there are feelings I do not particularly enjoy or appreciate, whether sadness, despair, loneliness, feeling alone, or anger. Through the ongoing process of getting to know myself and growing, I have gained a much more robust and meaningful understanding of who I am.

My Pain of Writing

My struggle and pain for today is pressing forward with writing. 

Figuring out how to communicate the underlying message in the book through showing and not telling, learning to prune without cutting out vital information, encouraging and being generous with the creative, inviting the imaginative out to play, keeping in mind all of life's lessons whilst writing, allowing the characters' personalities to take their unique forms, believing I have something worthwhile to share.

Balancing my daily responsibilities (which keep me running nonstop, with precious little sleep) with writing is difficult. I have yet to figure out how to do that well.

Yet, I am attempting to hold steadfast on to the hope that my work of fiction will not merely make or a good read but will transform lives.

Being Good to Oneself is not Being Hedonistic or Selfish

I am in a place or position where I put the needs of others before mine. That has often left me eating long past due, sleeping less than I need to function properly, and leaving my own time to whatever meager crumbs remain.

The trouble is, functioning that way resulted in a startling wake-up call that forced me to rethink and reorganize my own rank and role in the priorities. No longer can my existence or my well being be ignored nor my basic necessities denied.

I need to sleep. The ideal is a minimum of six to eight hours a day. Though that sort of sleep is not likely to happen on a regular basis, I have a goal towards which I will strive.

I require more than just three meals a day. And I should not be waiting and eating, hours after the typical eating times. My body needs Essen every 2-3 hours.

And, I am finding out that I need to be doing some other things to be good to myself.

Not Selfish

Making sure I am part of the living and realizing that I can better able care for others by tending to my needs, is not being selfish.

It is not for the lack of concern for others that I care for myself or tend to some of my needs.

In fact, without eating well or sleeping enough, I could easily be rendered incapable of assisting others.

Not Hedonistic

Perhaps some of the non-basic needs I am adding to the list of 'to dos' to be good to myself might be categorized as frivolities or pursuits of pleasure (for pleasure's sake).

You may take whatever interpretation you desire. One should be able to exercise free thought.

But, I am doing the best to improve the quality of my life by discerning and choosing with care.

By taking better care of myself, I am better equipped to do those other things I spoke of at the start.

Not Just An Orphan

Last week, I saw a powerful documentary about a Korean pastor, Pastor Lee Jong-rak who has provided refuge for those who have been deemed unwanted or rejected. He has provided a safer place, a 'drop-box,' where unwanted babies can be placed; instead of being abandoned in the cold abrasive elements of the outdoors, left to die. Beyond providing safe temporary refuge, Pastor Lee has adopted a number of these little ones into his own family.

Many of these little babies are babies of unwed mothers, babies of teenage mothers, babies bearing disabilities of various kinds.

Lover of the Unloved

The story of Pastor Lee's heart, mercy, and being known as a "lover of the unloved" goes much deeper and began much earlier, with the family's second child, a son: Eun-man. Eun-man was born in June 1987, with a massive cyst on his cheek and severely debilitating cerebral palsy that would make his limbs sticking out at strange angles and confine him to a life laying on his back. For the first 14 years of Eun-man's life, the family of four, for all intents and purposes, lived in the hospital.

Yet, Pastor Lee continued a life living in the trenches, accepting, ministering, and loving the 'unacceptable' and the 'unloveable,' not just those of blood relations. He tends everyday needs, showers them with affection, and loves them.


Unacceptable, Unwanted, A Sense of Not Belonging

Those babies were left, abandoned, because the timing was not right, the biological mother and father were not wed, or the baby bore some sort of difficult or debilitating disability. Some might have struggles resulting from the mentioned issues.

Though not everyone has experienced such things, many can identify with feeling unacceptable, unwanted, a sense of not belonging,

Following the showing of the documentary itself was a discussion/interview with various individuals, including the Director/writer, Brian Ivie, who admitted, if memory serves me correctly, though he bore no visible disabilities, he felt he had disabilities on the inside.

Perhaps we are plagued by not getting into a sufficiently prestigious school, failing to perform on a par with someone's standards, not looking perfect, not getting promoted within a particular time frame, not making enough money, not having the right perspective on what matters, not getting approval from loved ones, the list goes on.

The feelings are real and can be very painful.

Feelings of being unacceptable and unwanted can be so strong that they lead to dire consequences: cutting, drinking, doing drugs, other self-destructive behavior, or committing suicide.

Not just an orphan

What if there is a message of hope here for us all?

Those feelings of inadequacy are very real and should not be ignored.

What if, in spite of those feelings, there is not only acceptance but a very real embrace of who we are, as we are (not as we should be, could be, or would be)?

Pastor Lee shared in the documentary, "The Drop Box," that he is sharing God's love.

I daresay he is not the only one who is trying to share God's love in a very real, tangible way. However, what he shares and imparts is life-changing.

Food for thought: what if each one of us is not only accepted but embraced for who we are?

We are not just sitting or standing before empty chairs and empty tables, with no one to care and no one to listen.

Success, based on What or Whose Standards?

By the standards of the world, my profession, and my paying work, I would be the model example of failure in my career. I am not attending conferences, hobnobbing with fellow colleagues in the field, and I am not keeping up with current research and publishing.

It is time to throw in the towel and call me done. Look up the word 'failure' (to do one's job well) in the dictionary, and my name and photograph will be found in the definition of the term.

Wait a minute.

I am still here. Do you believe that I have accepted the stamp of 'failure' to succeed in my career?

Sometimes I believe I might have. Looking at social media updates with "tenure" in it or noticing the lengthy running credits of friends' recent academic accomplishments can be quite unnerving and intimidating.  Or drive me into despair.

But, I have had a strong feeling that I should be doing the project that I have been undertaking, until the work is done. Whilst in process, I have nothing to show that convinces anyone that my intuition not anything more than a flight of fancy but is grounded in something significant and worthy of attention.

My (academic) training has no small role to play in the undertaking of this project. I love, with a deep passion, my field, my discipline. And, no one is going to take away how doing/studying the discipline has shaped and will continue to change my life.

Am I a success? Will I be a success? Let us not start from the unknown but the known. I am going to finish this (monumental) project I started. Godspeed, please!

Going Beyond Appearances is Dangerous, Unpredictable, and Freeing

I stumbled upon an article on fake olive oil article this morning. We have been duped into purchasing fake olive oil masquerading as virgin olive oil. A desire to pursue health benefits has been trumped, at least in part, by the need to save money.

We want save money, and sometimes going for the cheaper prices involves a significant sacrifice elsewhere. Oftentimes it means someone somewhere is being paid unfair wages insufficient for sustaining basic needs. In the case of olive oil, there seems to be indication that ingesting fake olive oil can be detrimental to one's health. If we take something at face value, the information we get can be deceptive and is, at best, partial. Doing some more investigating offers a more robust and comprehensive view. I definitely care what goes into my body; so, I will be more careful when I shop.

What happens when we take this consumerist mentality towards our interactions with people? Granted, matters concerning people are always more complicated and less clean cut. People have thoughts, feelings, preferences. And people seem to have abundant obligations with precious little time and energy to fulfill them. We cannot realistically invest in everyone's lives. I get it. I live there.

But, what if judging people by their appearances is misinforming, misleading, or offers only part of the picture? An individual, who is now a close friend, after finding out I have a PhD, was intimidated and would not approach me for the longest time. There are circumstances I might enjoy giving off the air of being intimidating - at academic conferences or when students try to weasel their way out of their responsibilities. But, being intimidating and unapproachable is not me.

There is so much deeper, beneath the surface, beyond appearances, insofar as people are concerned. Once we have some comprehension of the stuff beyond what is skin deep, we begin to have greater insight in to the person as a whole.

Indeed, looking beyond appearances requires time and energy. The risk is much more far reaching than that. Becoming acquainted with people is unpredictable and dangerous. We could discover messy stuff about someone else, too embarrassing to tell. We could also uncover difficulties or gaping wounds in our own lives.

But, what if looking only at appearances is like living with the lights off, and we can barely make out what is going on?!

What if the stakes are high, and we stand to lose everything when we do not learn to listen, see, dialogue, and observe more with people?

People have so much to offer.

We are part of the living dead when we do not invest in others. People are treasure troves of knowledge and experiences. Side note: I am not hereby claiming that people are to be interpreted or used merely as a means towards some goal.

I am honored to be bestowed any part of anyone's life story. We are not made isolated, non-relational beings. We thrive and flourish when we commune with others. We, as people, are taken to depths we would otherwise be unable to traverse. This is where we should live, invested in the lives of others.

I dare to embark on the unpredictable, by going beyond appearances, to help us freely and truly be ourselves.

Listening or Being Heard

From early on in life, I have enjoyed talking. Talking, talking, talking. I cannot recall the particular mélange of comments I offered. That period screeched to a sudden and grinding halt, when I found out speaking one's mind was disruptive whilst teaching was going on in the classroom or whilst others' voices were in seeming dire need of being heard. As much as I basked in sharing my fascinations and discoveries like an unbridled, exciting adventure, I treasured even more offering a listening ear to others.

Through the years, I have learned that providing a listening ear, that is productive and helpful, takes much shaping and refining. A wide array of unplanned, difficult experiences has helped towards that endeavor. Discerning between speaking just to fill stumbling, awkward silence or sharing to add redemptive pieces has not been a mere option. I have been on the receiving end of plenty of unfiltered word-vomit to grasp the significance of that.

But, for a time now, I have been traveling on a course less traveled, one challenging me to better balance listening to others and sharing matters of consequence. After being unaccustomed to making my unique mosaic and pronounced voice heard, I have to get past unbidden feelings of guilt.

Looking forward, my challenge is to write and speak (or paint and photograph) with an ear (or eye or mind) that has heard and filtered well. The work of fiction that is in the making needs to be written with much discernment and care. Though book is a work categorized as fantasy, not geared towards children but adults, the message that will be communicated is life-changing and life-giving;

and I must make sure I utilize and hone my listening skills as I pen every word, every character, every plot piece.

The Problem with Calling Something Broken, 'Worthless Rubbish'

A couple of recent events impacting my life challenged me to think more about how quick we can be to deem objects of misfortunes - whether physical or emotional, accidental or planned - as damaged or worth less.

If something, whatever that 'something' is, is become less than we expect, then we should throw that something away.

One particular event left me feeling in despair, not presentable, disgusting, less than whole. I had hoped, hoped, hoped what had happened was just a terrible nightmare. I would awaken to find this surprising, worrisome experience just a fleeting figment of my imagination. But that was not the case. Not a chance.

The reality is, the details of what caused that one time occurrence remains uncertain. Some have become nervous twitches. At times, without warning, I am thrown into a temporary state of heightened awareness and panic, fearing the possibility that that dreadful event might happen again.

I am also more acutely aware of my flaws and imperfections.

With some distance from the event now, I have been inquiring and discerning whether these flaws, this brokenness, render me worthless, worth less, or undesirable rubbish, on any level.

What if my consuming concerns were and are mere shallow or unsubstantial considerations? What if terrifying or altering experiences were meant to challenge me and transform me into a stronger person?

The full extent of the damage or impact the event had still remains to be seen. The unknown looming over me like a dark ominous shadow leaves an unsettling sharp pain in the pit of my stomach. But, I believe I was meant to reinterpret the occurrence for the better, for my own life and in the assistance of others.

Some how, I am to show others that brokenness - whether physically, emotionally, psychological, or brokenness manifest in some other way - does not render a person worthless. Despair, seeming unbearable sadness, gnashing of teeth might be part of the grieving process. Understandably so. But, the narrative does not stop there.

I do not know how things will play out, not with any picture perfect clarity. When I gaze forward, I can sort of make out some brightness ahead. I shall attempt to hold my head high, even if I am tempted to keep my face hidden and unnoticed.