Stumbling, bumbling, fumbling...

During one of my many detours, I learned about Maslow's hierarchy of needs. Before one can worry about "self-actualization" - morality, creativity, spontaneity, etc. - one must have physiological needs met: food, breathing, water, sex, and air. And once those needs are met, then one can worry about safety, belonging, etc. And then belonging. And then self-esteem. And finally self-actualization. 

There are a lot of good and important things to take out of Maslow's hierarchy, especially when it comes to school - how can children who aren't having their physiological needs met, who don't feel safe, be motivated in the classroom?  It's just a little more challenging.  

This New York Time piece, "Generation OMG", the effects of this recession are considered. According to the article, the children born in the 30s and just before turned into the silent generation, sober, practical, eager for a safe, secure job.  Their children, the boomers, were protected, indulged, and able to explore. The article draws some parallels between the excesses of the twenties and the bubbles of the nineties (artificially inflated, also, during the last administration), and it suggests that children today will grow up to be silent - sober, practical, less likely to indulge in excess.  

The article is more nuanced than my little description, acknowledging other similarities as well as diffences. But it made me think of how lucky I am to have the luxury of worrying about creativity, problems of morality, expression. These are good problems to have. 

College vs Real Life

Truth in writing, writing as a contruct, construct as the truth.

I'm reading a lot lately. Actual books, even!  Of course there are the readings for class, the ones I have to really read (as opposed to that "fake" reading I did in college, skimming the surface, getting the main idea, avoiding eye contact with the professors...). It turns out that by really reading them, I get more out of them. Who knew?

Faulkner's "A Rose for Emily" is brilliant.  Hemingway's "A Soldier's Home," brilliant. Godwin's "A Sorrowful Woman" and Chopin's "Story of an Hour," shocking. And once I got in the habit of really reading, I actually want to find more brilliance: J.M. Coetzee, brilliant; Kevin Brockmeier, so far, brilliant.

Reading books, writing anything, these are all activities that bring us closer to the truth. Postmodernism succeeded by forcing us to exam grand metanarratives and, if necessary, tear them apart, exposing false "truths." But it also failed by distracting us from that search for truth. I don't believe there are millions of little truths, one for each individual; rather, there is a truth out there (cue the X-Files theme) that is elusive but that we should also try to get closer to. Reading great books does that, as it allows us to see things through others' eyes. Writing does that, as we seek the best words to accurately describe or represent reality.

And that's why plagiarism is such a heinous act. The act of writing it, obviously, is false; worse, the act of reading it is also rendered false, and it taints everything that comes after. I describe it as a punch to the stomach, but more accurately it's a squishing of the heart.

In this Arranged Marriage, Love Came Second

In many countries, such as India and Iran, arranged marriage – a marriage in which parents have chosen their son or daughter’s spouse – is still common practice. The divorce rate in these places is under 10%, a tiny fraction of the divorce rate in the United States, and I wonder why. Is it that Indian parents are so much better at choosing a husband for their daughter than an American woman is able to do for herself? I find that hard to believe; however, I have been a bride’s maid at three weddings, and two of the three couples are now divorced. 

Even though my sample of marriages is too small to be statistically meaningful, it’s nonetheless a startling snapshot of where our society is – a place where people seem to fall in and out of marriage as quickly as they fall in and out of love.  I don’t doubt that most individuals go into a marriage believing that it’s for life; nor do I doubt that the break up is devastating for everyone involved.  But then I think of the wedding shows (“Bridezilla” and “Whose Wedding is it Anyway?”) that populate cable television, making a spectacle of the wedding process and trivializing what comes after the honeymoon; I think of my own parents, divorced before I reached junior high; and I think about my friends, divorcées before their twenty-eighth birthdays. 

Something in our society is amiss, and while arranged marriage isn’t the answer – Americans want their freedom to marry and divorce whomever they choose – maybe we should consider some of the conditions that allow arranged marriages to succeed and even thrive. Trust, commitment, and familial support would be a good starting point.

(a little essay-ish, but it was crafted as an example for class... I really aimed to keep it under 10 sentences, hence the semicolons... although who doesn't love a good, well-placed semicolon? Not to mention the em-dash...)

Pointless hypothetical ruminations

I've often thought that I couldn't have survived high school in today's society. Everyone with a MyFace page and cell phone, hyperaware of each other's "friends" and relationship status, or lack thereof... I survived 15 years ago with a bit of willful ignorance, and I don't think that's possible today.

But on the other hand, it might have been fun constructing an identity through words and links and common interests. Maybe it would have leveled the playing field.

This is what I think about when I can't fall asleep. Or else I try to figure out "Lost."

On the bright side...

I may have lost my health insurance, but I'm much calmer so I won't need the health insurance. Eh?

Eh?

Truth in writing

There are some things I read that just ooze with humanity. Unaccustomed Earth, by Jhumpa Lahiri, had believable characters in situations that didn't seem contrived and yet were still interesting.  Different. The Art of Racing in the Rain was narrated by a dog; yet this dog seemed more real, more authentic, than most characters I see on tv or in movies.

A number of things stood out to me in the President's inaugural address, but I especially appreciated this passage (emphasis mine):

Our challenges may be new. The instruments with which we meet them may be new. But those values upon which our success depends — hard work and honesty, courage and fair play, tolerance and curiosity, loyalty and patriotism — these things are old. These things are true. They have been the quiet force of progress throughout our history. What is demanded then is a return to these truths.

Fiction allows us to explore a truth in so many different ways.  Grief, joy, passion, anxiety, courage, and loyalty can be treated with the subtlety and complexity these truths deserve.  

I'm just dancing around my own explorations.  

Bombarded by noise

In the most recent edition of "Best American Short Stories," edited by Salman Rushdie, there was a story in which a town - not unlike New York City - became silent for a year. It came on gradually, with only 2- or 3- minute interruptions of absolute quiet, but soon the periods were longer. Citizens grew to love the silence, missing it so much when it disappears that they decided to make the whole city a noiseless bubble. With the quiet, people had more ideas. 

But eventually, a sound pierces the bubble. After so much quiet, the people are excited by the momentary chaos. The interruptions of noise happen again and again for longer and longer, and the people decide to get rid of the silence and go back to how things were.

It's really a nice piece that stands out from the others in the collection. "The Year of Silence," it's called, by Kevin Brockmeier.

Anyway.

I was thinking about the task we all have of living in this world. Everyone just going about it. Their lives, I mean. They get up, go to work or school, or stay home with kids, they come home, they call people, they make plans, they clean their house, they do their dishes, put away clothes, pay bills, draw, write, create.  

All that amazes me; clearly, I'm easily impressed.