Category Archives: Gratitude

The enduring injuries of childhood

Some, I imagine, did not receive traumatizing injuries during their upbringing.  I would like to meet and talk to someone who didn’t some day.   Most people I know, in a candid moment, will describe self-hatred, shame, rage, humiliation, terror, depression and several other shades of pain they don’t deserve   My father, at 80, on his death bed, admitted for the first time how the brutality he’d endured as a child had doomed him to live in a black and white world, holding off rooms full of potential abusers wherever he went, instead of using his great gifts to bring more color into the world.

No tears for us, please.  Like the fact that we all die, that injuries we suffered as young children endure is no mystery, nor anything to get tearful about.  How do we face the fact of our eventual deaths?  Outside of not thinking about it, by living as well as we can.   How do we endure the enduring hurts of childhood, even as adults, even as tough people who would rather kick somebody’s ass than admit how much we hurt?  That is hard work and does not yield to a simple answer.

We pay careful attention, think unhurriedly, use our words to describe things as clearly as we can.  We model the way we want others to treat us.  We do not do to others what we hate done to ourselves.  We consciously work to do better, to replace an angry reflex with a kind gesture.   It’s not easy, or, even, it must be admitted, in some cases, even  possible.  People may be too damaged, too bitter, crazy, anxious, desperate, invested in the needs of their egos or their justifiable rage to even imagine another way to live their lives.  Imagining a better way to live is the first step, like imagining anything is the first step to anything different.

No time at the moment to do anything but the best I can.  And wish strength to you to do the same.

Bigfooted By A Billionaire

Imagine getting to sit down with a magnate in your field, someone who can open any door, introduce you to the people you need to meet.   A man who loves ideas tells you he likes your idea very much and wants to help.  Only trouble is, there’s a stretch limo waiting for him downstairs, you may have seen it on your way in.   It was sent for him by his former intern, now, at age 26, about to become a very, very wealthy man.  Touching that the kid would send the limo for his old mentor, he was a teenager when he worked for the magnate for free.  A brilliant kid, a great kid.  Anyway, not to waste time– and I promise you a full meeting at a later date– but in four minutes or so, fill me in.

So you fill him in.  And as it’s your idea, and you know every detail of it intimately, and you’re a bright kid yourself, you are able to bring it to life to this guy who loves a great idea.  His eyes shine like the eyes of a kid in a candy store as you talk.  He asks an intelligent question, you give a snappy, succinct answer.  A few laughs are laughed.  It is with regret he stands, on the fourth intrusion by his secretary, and shakes your hand. “We’ll do the full meeting soon,” he says with warmth, and then is on his way down to the limo.

You later read about the sale, it’s all over the news.  The young man, David Karp, 26, has sold Tumblr for 1.1 billion dollars. Sitting next to him on the dais, the man you were just talking to.  It’s an amazing world.  

But that all happened in April, why are you thinking about it now?

Sekhnet’s edit

She had a good idea, which others have also mentioned to me over the last year.  Keep a log of cool things the kids do, one or two a week.  Keep people interested in the unfolding story of a remarkable project.   Here’s her edit of a recent post:

At the end of a hectic animation session I assembled the wild little animators around me on the carpet to do the soundtrack.  A wonderful multi-track looper app was open on the iPad, a five-way headphone splitter plugged in.   Four kids and I put on the headphones.

I had them listen to the beat, which Amza had tapped in to set the tempo for the metronome.  My only instruction:  do something along with the beat when I point at you.  I realized quickly it was best to give each a track of their own, to be able to fade things in and out and get rid of any noise, while preserving anything that might be great on its own track.  It also kept the rest of them quiet and allowed the one making the track to hear him or herself think.  It is crucial to be able to hear yourself when making music with others.

“When I point to you, say how old you are” and I pointed to Amza who rapped out, “I am eight eight eight eight”, and then to Natalie who sang “I am Te-ehn!” and around the circle it went, Kazu, who deadpanned “I am ten” then Auden, “I am eight eight eight eight” and so forth.  Amza then sang a ditty right out of the history of Afghanistan, where his mother is from.  Natalie sang a wild and melodic loop that sounded like “Magical Purpose” sung three times, but which I realized, after 1,000 listenings during overdubs, was probably “Magical Puppies.”  Headphones were rotated to kids who didn’t have a chance to record.  The others all kicked in manic parts, I said goodbye, and they were off. 

When I got home and began mixing it down I was struck by the variety, the creativity, the fact that they were all singing in the same key, and none of them did anything that conflicted with the beat.  I was amazed. It was rocking.

Mike Gets It

One of the after school programs where we do the workshop provides a helper, a counselor, a guy we’ll call Mike (since that’s his name).  Mike came in the first time with a drill sergeant demeanor, herding the kids, telling them sternly to stay in their seats and be quiet.

This was not really the vibe we need in the workshop, the first rule is move around to where you’re comfortable, keep moving if you like.  The second is to talk about what you’re planning to do.  

There was a minor clash that first time, the second time was a little easier.  By the third session Mike felt no need to discipline the kids, since they were all busy and involved with what they were doing.  Last week I pointed something out to Mike.

“Damn…” he said, and I nodded.  Four kids were animating at the animation stand by themselves, two moving the things on the animation stand, two photographing.  

“And in the full two-hour workshop another couple of kids would be at the computer editing and working on the soundtrack while the other kids were animating,” I pointed out.   He was impressed.

This week Mike was animating.  Sitting by ten year-old Jacob, the two of them enthralled by a Muybridge sequence I’d shown them,  Mike said “I’ll help you,” and was soon diligently working on a sequence of a running man.

By the end of the session Mike was as giddy as many of the kids sometimes get after a session of animation.

“Lily,” I called out to the girl who was trying to get her book back from Mike, who was holding it just out of her reach, “leave Mike alone.”

And Mike, rather than barking at the kids to stay in their seats, threw his head back and laughed.

Transcription of a wonderful narration by an old Dutch man

I listen to this frequently to remind myself of the privilege of walking around in this world:

Do you think this is just another day in your life?

It’s not just another day, it’s the one day that is given to you today.  It’s given to you, it’s a gift.  It’s the only gift that you have right now and the only appropriate response is gratefulness.

If you do nothing else but to cultivate that response to the great gift that this unique day is, if you learn to respond as if it were the first day in your life and the very last day, then you will have spent this day very well.

Begin by opening your eyes and be surprised that you have eyes you can open, that incredible array of colors that is constantly offered to us, for pure enjoyment.

Look at the sky.  We so rarely look at the sky.  We so rarely note how different it is from moment to moment, with clouds coming and going.   We just think of the weather, and even of the weather we don’t think of all the many nuances of weather.   We just think of good weather and bad weather.   This day, right now, is unique weather, maybe a kind that will never, exactly in that form, come again.  The formation of clouds in the sky would never be the same as it is right now.   Open your eyes, look at that.

Look at the faces of people whom you meet, each one has a incredible story behind their face, a story that you could never fully fathom.  Not only their own story, but the story of their ancestors.   We all go back so far.  And in this present moment, on this day, all the people that you meet, all that life from generations and from so many places all over the world, flows together and meets you here like a life giving water, if you only open your heart and drink.

Open your heart to the incredible gifts that civilization gives to us.   You flip a switch and there is electric light, you turn a faucet and there is warm water, and cold water, and drinkable water.   It’s a gift that millions and millions  in the world will never experience.    And these are just a few of an enormous number of gifts to which we can open your heart.  

And so I wish you that you will open your heart to all these blessings, and let them flow through you– that everyone whom you will meet on this day will be blessed by you.  Just by your eyes, by your smile, by your touch, just by your presence.

Let the gratefulness overflow into blessing all around you.   And then it will really be a good day.

Sending a Severed Head by email

Honestly (not really), I wonder what’s wrong with me sometimes.  

I ponder the lack of response I often get and never stop to consider that what I think of as a delightful six second animated snapshot of true friendship and whimsy may actually be a grisly severed head.  

Errors in judgment and misguided thinking happen all the time.  Look at the otherwise highly intelligent people who believe barbaric, destructive things and spend millions to convince others of these repugnant beliefs.  

So I suppose I should be philosophical at the virtually unanimous aghast silence that met this latest emailed monstrosity.  One brings it on oneself when one appoints oneself a spokesman for friendship and creativity in a world that commodifies everything, most especially time.

You be the judge:  http://vinebox.co/u/wsEcbPUF5lE/wdsh1bQVTUo

Maren's monster

 

Three Minute Drill– Gratefulness Journal

I pop open the little black gratefulness journal I’ve been carrying to make notes in while I ride the subway.  I wonder if my friend is using his to record the many daily opportunities to feel grateful.  Some of the entries may seem weak, but I’m grateful not to worry about that.

F 10-18 

Friday– running late, as so often I run, grateful that bitter silence does not manage to drown a dream I’ve dreamed since I started dreaming.

Th 10-17

Vulnerability is an ambiguous gift, it makes you worry about accepting it.  There are other great gifts like that, for sure.  If I didn’t have fear, I couldn’t be brave.

M 10-14

gratefulness is its own reward

Sat 10-12

gratefulness for excitement over ideas

gratefulness for ideas

gratefulness for being grateful

I know you are, but what am I?

Image

It’s not about the interest rate comfortable people pay

It’s one thing to nonchalantly pay your 3.85% mortgage on something that you live in, a comfortable home that appreciates in value, is an asset you can eventually sell to recoup your investment, if not also a profit.

It’s another thing entirely to pay mortgage interest four times what the banks are paying, on a house you will never live in, a house full of vermin and every kind of expensive vexation, a house of plague you avoid.  And the repayment amount exceeds your combined income for a decade.

But I’m not here to whine about interest rates on unwisely taken student loans.  There is more important business, like getting you to reading this again, with focus and attention.  To imbibe its truth, and to taste the truth of it, and to think on it a moment.

WENDELL BERRY:  But that’s the problem we’re in to start with, we’ve tried to impose the answers.

The answers will come not from walking up to your farm and saying this is what I want and this is what I expect from you.

You walk up and you say what do you need. And you commit yourself to say all right, I’m not going to do any extensive damage here until I know what it is that you are asking of me.

And this can’t be hurried.  This is the dreadful situation that young people are in.

I think of them and I say well, the situation you’re in now is a situation that’s going to call for a lot of patience.

And to be patient in an emergency is a terrible trial.

source: http://billmoyers.com/episode/full-show-wendell-berry-poet-prophet/

Saving A Life

I was running late for the children’s animation workshop today.  The weather service had put the area on tornado watch, I heard on the radio.  We have tornadoes now in NYC.  One ripped through here a couple of years ago, tore hundreds of trees out by the roots.  There was talk of drenching rain.  I had a call, talked for a few minutes, looked at the clock, realized I just had time to make it, if I ran, and if I also got lucky.  I jumped into the shower when I should have already been on the train.

As the water began to hit the tub I saw a spider down near the drain trying to scurry away, but she couldn’t get any traction with the droplets gathering on the side of the tub.  I shut the water, with the thought that I was crazy, I was already late.  Reached for a piece of toilet paper, coaxed the spider on to it, put the spider and toilet paper on the sink.  Showered.  When I got out the spider was walking on the sink, kind of shaking the water off its legs.  I smiled, jumped into my clothes, put on the heavy back pack and ran down to the subway which I caught with 5 seconds to spare.

Rushing to the workshop, and arriving, dripping with sweat, four minutes before I had to start it, I didn’t stop to think that the ahimsa bit wouldn’t have worked out so well for me and my little friend if the critter at the bottom of the tub had been a cockroach.

A Little Wisdom under the menu

There is a vegetarian Chinese restaurant that we love, on Main Street just north of the LIE.  A few years ago, during some very vexing days, when we sat down to eat there I was struck by an aphorism under the glass my menu had been covering:

Remain soft-spoken and forgiving, even when reason is on your side.

I copied it in Chinese with my brush pen and the waitress, like a beautiful deer trying to make herself understood in human language, smiled happily and praised my calligraphy.   I told her I write Chinese the way a parrot speaks, but she was undeterred, pointed to each character, trying to explain its deeper meaning.   I left the restaurant feeling I’d learned something important to remember.  I rewrote the phrase many times over the next few days.

Yesterday, in the midst of new vexations, which grow like weeds in most of our gardens, this was under the glass where I sat:

When doing something, instead of worrying or being vexed about it, we should just be mindful.

A reminder:  we cannot change what is happening in this troubling world while we work:  better than vexation is careful attention to doing the work as well as we can.