It’s a Matter of Perspective

I liked this photograph at first glance because it has two of my favorite critters in it.

 But then I saw its message and liked it all the more.

Conversing with Books

Typically, reading is a fairly solitary activity—a one-way communication from writer to reader. Our eyes take in an author’s message and direct it to our brains, where it mingles with our memories, convictions, and emotions and finds a comfy place to take up residence—having either supported what we already believed/felt or given us a new perspective.

Lately this one-way communication has fallen short for me. Post-it Notes mark page after page of my books where an author has written something that: 1) I disagree with and want to debate; 2) I wish to share my own thoughts and experiences about; or 3) I believe demands an extended conversation between the writer and me.

In The Nine Emotional Lives of Cats: A Journey Into the Feline Heart, author Jeffrey Moussaieff Masson generalizes countless pronouncements based on his experiences with his own cats as being true for all cats. Yet time after time, the cats of my experience don’t fit neatly into his theories. I feel as if I’m in a boxing match and not allowed to box back.

The Philosopher’s Dog: Friendships with Animals is a small book bursting with big ideas. I want to delve further into the mind of author Raimond Gaita, discuss the evolution of compassion in humans he describes and how we might nurture that now.

I want to ask Erik Larson, author of The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and the Madness at the Fair that Changed America, what fascinated people about Chicago’s Union Stockyards. How did a slaughterhouse become a main attraction, and when and why did it lose its appeal?

You might be thinking, “Get thee to a book club. You just need to talk about these things with someone.” And you’d be right—up to that last word.

You see, not just anyone will do. I need to speak with the very authors who stoked my ire, my defenses, my support, and my admiration. I need to alter the passive nature of these books, redirect their monologues to dialogues. Sometimes I just want to tell the writers they’re not alone in their perspective. Or maybe I really want to say thank you for letting me know I’m not alone in my perspective.

In The Light in High Places: A Naturalist Looks at Wyoming Wilderness, Rocky Mountain Bighorn Sheep, Cowboys, and Other Rare Species, author Joe Hutto challenges readers with this question:

“Who has stopped to admire the spectacular male starling in the last one hundred years?”

I cried aloud to the page, “I have! I have!”

[Typewriter art by Jeremy Mayer.]

My Friday the 13th Lens

I’m not genuinely superstitious, but I do love Friday the 13ths. I feel especially motivated on these quirky days to rise above life’s disappointments and unfortunate circumstances and see only loveliness in the world.

On this last Friday the 13th of 2012, join me in contemplating this photograph of one of Everton Wright’s Walking Drawings. What better combination than art, animals, and beach?

BOOKreMARKS: Your First and Only Warning

When I started to resize my personal library—that is, depopulate it—and commit to borrowing rather than buying any more books, I started keeping track of what I’d read. Hence the lists on the right of Lull.

My lists are only lists, though; they’re not recommendations. I want to be clear on that. The books listed may not even have struck my fancy; they’re simply the ones I finished reading.

However, many of the books on my lists have touched me in some way or riled my thoughts on certain subjects, which I’d like to share with you from time to time. No reviews, no synopses, no critical analyses. You can get those from oodles of other blogs and lit sites. I’m not trying to make Lull a go-to blog for bibliophiles. I just want to tell you how a particular book has affected me, or what impressions it has left on me. I’ll try to avoid giving much away and leave you to decide whether you want to read it.

If you don’t wish to read my reactions to books in the future, you can skip reading any Lull posts whose titles begin with the word “BOOKreMARKS.”

This, then, is the extent of my effort to follow the current protocol of the tech age: offering you fair warning and a choice of opting out when the occasion arises.

Whew! I’m glad we’re done with that! Moving forward…

[Art by Charles Burton Barber.]

The Waiting Game

An older friend of mine (older in that she’s closer to being 100 than I am) recently received celebratory news: Her granddaughter was coming to town.

She could hardly wait for the arrival of the young woman she hadn’t seen for years. There’d been a family rift between other generations and communications had been uneasy. However, now the younger generation was crossing the divide. She would be staying with her aunt’s family in town, which left my friend on the outside.

I’m sure this was a benign decision made for the same well-intentioned reasons we’ve all used at one time or another: Shouldn’t stay with Grandma—too much chaos for her; don’t include Grandma in all we do—too much activity for her; don’t invite her shopping—it’s too much walking for her; she won’t want to go to the movie with us—her hearing, you know; yada yada yada.

For my friend, this decision (made with her best interests at heart) meant that her eagerness quickly turned into anxiousness. It raised a million questions in her mind, among them: Is she here yet? Have you heard from her? How was her trip? How does she look? Are we having dinner together tonight? When will she come to my house? Do you want me to come over there? What can I bring? What are the plans for tomorrow? Until my friend received a phone call, these questions would rule her thoughts.

You know those moments in movies when two characters brush against each other and something incredible and momentous happens? One sees into the future of the other, or the accountant becomes a superhero, or the entire past of one is revealed to the other, or the frog becomes a teenage idol. I had one of those moments with my friend. In a single flash, I FELT all of her anxiety, hurt, joy, pain, relief, frustration, and excitement. It made me want to call her family and say, “Please don’t forget to call her regularly. She awaits your news every moment. It’s all she thinks about. She’s afraid to stray too far from the phone for fear of missing your call. She won’t make plans with her friends because you’re her first priority and she plans to be available to you for anything you choose to do. She’s put her life on hold for you. Please keep her informed with a quick call.”

In my own family, whenever one of the grandchildren was returning home for a visit, my mother would get irritated by the repeated phone calls she received from my grandmothers: “Is he there yet?” Have you heard from her?” I understood their calls at the time, but I never FELT their anxiousness and desperation until now.

As much as I felt my friend’s pain, I more deeply feel the pain of my grandmothers—and regret all the occasions on which I may have been the cause of it.

As for my friend, I hope she comes out on the other side of this reunion with no memory of the downside it initially caused. I hope she remembers only the comfort and delight of having her granddaughter once more within hugging distance.

[Art by Edouard Vuillard.]

Learning Life’s Lessons Over and Over Again

“Life is easier than you’d think; all that is necessary is to accept the impossible, do without the indispensable, and bear the intolerable.”
—Kathleen Norris


Indeed. This is the chipper outlook I’ve been trying to embrace. But it hasn’t been easy and Life’s little surprises keep taking me on the road and away from my Apple.

Bear with me. Please.

The Unemployment Blessing

I can’t say that I enjoyed being jobless. But I am grateful that I was free to spend so much time with the pooch during her last year on Earth.

Funny how the darkest turns of our lives can illuminate a treasure and refocus our perspective.

Finding Meaning in the Everyday

It’s easy for some of us—especially those of us who are unemployed—to lose sight of our contributions to society. We naturally think of the items we’re no longer producing, the people we’re no longer teaching or managing, the ideas we’re no longer sharing. We feel sidelined and useless.

However, we make other contributions that are no less deserving of recognition: chatting with an elderly neighbor, helping a child who’s fallen from a bike, bringing a smile to someone’s face. Yes, these are fleeting moments with no tangible results. But they’re meaningful nonetheless and should not be discounted.

“No one is useless in this world who lightens the burden of it for any one else.”
—From Our Mutual Friend, by Charles Dickens

Remind yourself to take stock of the myriad subtle ways in which you make a difference for others. View yourself through their eyes and you’ll see that you’re doing more than you think.

[Art by Mary Cassatt.]

Turning "Unemployed" into "Unencumbered"

In my search for evidence to prove to the eviction court that I'm not a deadbeat tenant, I stumbled upon Richard John Neuhaus' essay "Born Toward Dying." I initially read it with an eye toward helping my neighbor mourn her husband's unexpected death. And I was struck by this quote about grief:

"The worst thing is not the sorrow or the loss or the heartbreak. Worse is to be encountered by death and not to be changed by the encounter."

With a few word substitutions, the notion easily applies to the jobless:

"The worst thing is not the anger or the degradation or the sorrow. Worse is to be encountered by loss and not to be changed by the encounter."

For many of us, unemployment catapults our brains into high gear. Swirls of negative and sickening thoughts dominate prime real estate in our gray matter—like that wild teacup ride in amusement parks, with a new thought at every twist. Except that this teacup ride never makes us smile.

It's up to us to control the ride, though. And that demands some introspection. To make this stretch of jobless time valuable, we must examine ourselves and our perceptions:

What view are we afforded of the world from this level?

How does it differ from our employed view?

How fulfilling was our worklife? Do we want to replicate that?

How many different futures can we imagine for ourselves?

Some of us were so focused on our previous jobs and responsibilities that we lost sight of who we are outside of the workday. Being relieved of those responsibilities gives us an opportunity to connect with what's left. Or what's been shoved aside for years.

Job loss also gives us an opportunity to heighten our awareness and compassion for those less fortunate. To count our blessings while counting our pennies. To see our circumstances from yet another point of view.

Allow unemployment to change more than the number of shoes in your closet, or the balance of your checking account, or the busyness of your social calendar.

Don't misunderstand me. I'm not pressing anyone to plaster on a faux smile and grab any old silver lining.

Unemployment sucks; why pretend otherwise?

Nonetheless, we must stretch ourselves to make this loss meaningful. By plumbing the depths of our circumstances, we can expand our humility, compassion, and wisdom. We can build character as well as resumes.