Did you know that our self-talk can accelerate up to 4,000 words a minute.
That is a lot of input.
It is an invaluable skill, then, to be able to notice our inner chatter and to let it go when we do not need it to love and work in the world.
on accompaniment, attentiveness, and contribution
Did you know that our self-talk can accelerate up to 4,000 words a minute.
That is a lot of input.
It is an invaluable skill, then, to be able to notice our inner chatter and to let it go when we do not need it to love and work in the world.
Plants are phototropic. Over time, they orient themselves according to the light source in their environment, bending either toward the light or away from it.
Many people are power-tropic. They bend toward (or away from) those that they perceive are in power, and reflexively take on (or react against) their characteristics.
Seeing this phenomenon can help us understand our own motivation, the motivation of others, and, then, how to shape culture in a just way.
Making a point is, in the short term, quite fun. With a rhetorical flourish, we spin a narrative about how we see the world. Sometimes, this involves putting someone in their place in a way that activates the defensiveness of their ego (and ours). Little positive change can come from this.
Making a point is different from making a connection.
Making a connection is harder than making a point. It begins with listening. Truly, humbly listening. And then, with prudence and patience, willing the good of another.
Put another way, in order to make a difference in the world, first we must make a connection with a person. This path is far better (and more courageous) than simply making a point.
I’ve spent (that is, wasted) a lot of time in that situation.
Is it possible that you already have the answer you are waiting for as well?
If so, the next thing to do is to act.
When our youngest son was about 9 months old (and would wake up very early in the morning), our family spent a few days of vacation just north of San Diego. When our son would wake up, my wife and I took turns putting him in the carrier, leaving the condo, and walking on the pier built a quarter mile out into the Pacific Ocean.
From the pier, even at 6:00am in mid-November, one could easily see a hundred surfers, tiny to our sight, bobbing up and down in the waves. Each time a solid wave would approach them, a few surfers would stand up and take the wave, riding it masterfully to shore.
I often wonder about the difference, in my own life, between mastery and control.
From the pier, the surfers showed us that control of one’s circumstances is not possible, but mastery of those circumstances is beautiful.
If the narratives and noise in our heads spin, we can feel anxious and stuck. What is the perfect way forward in this situation, we wonder?
Well, there is never a perfect way. So, best to weigh the options one more time with a trusted conversation partner, and then act.
It may turn out that taking on an experiment or two is an excellent antidote to anxiety.
In our senior year of college, a group of friends began hosting “professor dinners” in which we crowded around a mediocre meal and asked a beloved teacher an impossibly difficult question.
In the final weeks before graduation, three professors were asked, “what is the greatest challenge of our generation?”
The first answered, “the ability and conviction to speak truthfully.”
The second answered, “solidarity with the poor.”
Then, the third answered that “the cultivation of solitude” was to be our greatest challenge.
Wait… the WHAT?
Largely an overzealous, justice-minded bunch, reactions ranged from sceptical acceptance to muffled horror. Didn’t this guy know about the urgency of the struggle for justice?
Of course he knew. But, he also knew that without solitude, we would not be centered within ourselves, be capable of sharing this center with others, or authentically build communities worthy of trust strong enough to bear the challenges of our age.
In Scripture and Tradition, the conversation of “faith or works” is a well trod path.
Sometimes, though, it strikes me that a more present danger of our age is that we have neither faith nor works.
Certain ideological narratives can masquerade as faith, but have nothing to do with trust in a loving God. And often this narrative only serves to whip up self-righteousness instead of actual work on behalf of real people.
Let’s work and pray with each other instead.
A friend once told me that, when he would visit his mother’s home, he found her preoccupied many times a day with searching her pool and screened porch for tiny trapped frogs. When she found one, she would catch it in a net and release it into the yard.
For her, the house was the extent of her sphere of influence. This assumption limited how she considered the possibility of her life and thus bound how she chose to spend her attention and energy.
Certainly, to engage the world productively, we have to judge what is actually in our control, and then make prudential decisions about how to engage the world. None of us is infinite.
Too often, though, we encounter too little, and spend time stressing out over frogs.
Far better to encounter actual suffering and address it actively and compassionately.
Years ago in Chicago, we had a friend who, on someone’s birthday, would put them on the spot and ask: “So, now that you are x years old, what do you have to say for yourself?”
I came to love the exercise, to watch others take account and share a bit of their distilled wisdom.
My birthday was this week, and my brother challenged me to answer the beloved question on the blog. So, for 2021, here is my answer.
It has been of great value to me to discover my story, to understand who I am and how I tend to engage the world.
It has also been of great value to me to discover our stories, to understand the narratives of the tribes of which I find myself a part.
And it is of ultimate value to me to consistently lay both my story and our stories into the narrative of The Story, the mystery of a loving God. This movement saves my story and our stories from becoming idols over which I obsess.
Put another way, kenosis before The Story returns me to my story and our stories with power, clarity, and the freedom to love, tuned to what is of ultimate value.