January, 17, 2010:
To claim this earthquake consequence
seems most devoid of common sense -
I can't believe that God would kill
a people who've done little ill.
Where hurricanes and earthquakes slay
the people don't deserve to pay
while other nations, more corrupt
see no disasters there erupt.
But smugness might occur, it's true
when horrors are not rained on you,
and to your small, judgmental mind
there's cause to what befalls mankind.
And yes, at times it seems that fate
sends misery to those who hate,
but in this case, it must be said,
so many of the hopeless dead
were likewise without hope in life -
impoverished and born to strife.
They battled hunger and disease,
and you, one who enjoys such ease,
can blithely say they earned their plight?
Your heart, and reckoning aren't right.
God did not cause their land to quake.
Your ignorance makes my heart ache.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
I remember my outrage when a man in my church congregation stood up and said that the devastating earthquake in Haiti was just another sign of the times, and that God was making good on his promise to cleanse the earth of wickedness before Jesus returned. I wanted to stand up and shout, "How dare you stand there in your nice suit, surrounded by your healthy family and even imply that the people of Haiti deserved this fate!"
I wanted to smack him up the side of the head. But then I looked around, and when I noticed how few had been paying attention to his words, it dawned on me, all at once, that perhaps it isn't so much the rhetoric of fools that is so damaging to society today, but the complacency of those who should be paying attention, and aren't.
So instead of giving in to my anger, I turned over my printed meeting program, grabbed a pencil out of my purse and wrote a poem. Perhaps the pen (or in this case, pencil) really is mightier than the sword. As I wrote I began to feel better - my anger at his words began to abate, and I actually began to feel sorry for him - the speaker of the thoughtless, stupid words that had so enraged me - and thus the last two lines appeared in my printing, almost of their own volition.
Compassion is a difficult concept to grasp, and an even more complicated practice to master.
Blame, on the other hand, is easy. It's easy to think, when a forty year, three pack-a-day smoker dies of cancer, "Well, he kinda deserved it." We might've really liked the guy, but we can explain away his death, and even justify it to ourselves, as the death that he deserved - a suitable consequence for a bad choice he made in life.
We can even take our smugness to the next level, and console ourselves that we'll never suffer a similar fate - after all, our choices were better and therefore we'll die painlessly, in our sleep, at the age of ninety-five.
But what happens to all of our Calvinistic reasoning when the unthinkable happens and we find out that sometimes we all can fall victim to disease, circumstance and tragedy? Some, I know, will continue in their relentless pursuit of a "reasonable" explanation. Some might remember small things that they did or said and begin to tell themselves that they actually did deserve to get sick, or be raped, or have their house burned down. Maybe they wore a skirt that incited the attack...maybe they cared too much about their nice house and had to be "brought down a peg or two." Maybe their eating habits were just too unhealthy....
"Yup," they'll say, "if this is happening to me then I must deserve it somehow".
Others will bypass the idea of reasonable culpability and try to find a measure of comfort in the notion that if it doesn't kill them it will make them stronger. They'll concentrate on what they "need to learn" from this horrific experience, and in the process continue to subtly blame themselves - the victims.
I'm going to counter some of this negative thinking by reiterating two of my firmest beliefs:
1) Life isn't fair.
2) We learn when we want to learn.
Harold Kushner made me begin to question my naive notions about life being fair when I first read his book When Bad Things Happen to Good People in my late-twenties. I know I've mentioned this book before, but as far as I'm concerned, it should be mandatory reading for all in the entitled first world. To sum it up, people do not always get what they deserve out of life. There isn't, as Kushner put it, "a cosmic vending machine" that rewards us with blessings for every good deed, good choice, or act of kindness that we perform. God cannot give us free will, and then intervene every single time another person's choice has negative consequences for us. And we can't expect that just because we were good and nice most of our lives the universe will reward us with a bill of good health and a hefty bank account. A lot of what happens occurs randomly - there is no real reason why it happened now, or to us. It just did.
S--t happens.
It's understandable that as rational beings we want to find ways to explain away both the bad things, and the good things, that happen to us. We want to believe that our affluence is a reward for hard work and good living, and that if our trials aren't actually deserved somehow, then at least they'll teach us invaluable lessons. "Some good must come out of this," we try to convince ourselves.
But let's go back to Haiti. Did those people deserve lives of poverty? Do poor Haitian children deserve to eat "dirt cookies" while North American children waste nutritional food in favour of gorging on Oreos? Did they deserve to have their humble homes decimated by an earthquake? I refuse to try and rationalize it - or to accept that it was part of an advance plan made by a loving deity.
What lessons did they learn from watching their loved ones die? In a climate where people live in poverty and see the ravages of disease daily, I think they probably understood the value in treasuring those they held dear. What did they learn from suddenly having no shelter? They already knew that the sun is hot - that's why they built roofs to provide shade. They learned that they needed stronger houses (which likely wasn't news to them). How useful is that knowledge anyway, when they don't have the means to build with bricks and steel?
No - I don't believe this sort of tragedy teaches anything new to those who suffer through it, and I don't believe any God would find such a cruel way to reinforce knowledge already gained.
What about the sexual assault victims that we read about right now - prominent in the news because the accused offenders are charismatic celebrities? Do you believe these women"deserved" to be drugged and raped, beaten and choked? Do they deserve to hear that they wanted the "attention" they got, or to daily face ridicule by those who claim that they're (at best) media whores looking to grab five minutes of fame by dragging the reputations of famous men through the muck?
What invaluable lessons will any of these victims learn from the misery they've experienced? Sadly, with the victim blaming mentality that pervades our legal system, they'll only have their preexisting knowledge reinforced, namely that it would have been easier to not speak up, and to leave their attacker free to prey on others.
It is true, that we often emerge stronger for having suffered along the way, but it's simplistic, and a bit self-defeating, to hold to the notion that growth is impossible without misery. I believe that it isn't the tragic circumstance itself that shapes us, but the humility we gain by knowing that such things can happen to us. We learn and grow when we work our way through difficulties because we, in our humbled state, want to learn.
And this is where I'm going to say something that might shock a few people. We don't need horrible things to happen in our lives in order to be humble enough to accept the notion that we might still have huge lessons to learn. We don't actually need to touch the burner ourselves to understand how much it hurt our brother when he touched it. (And we cried when he did, because we didn't like to see him hurt.)
I once had a friend tell me I didn't know much about life. After all, I'd always been a Goody Two-shoes type who'd never tried anything. From where she was standing, my life looked pretty free of traumatic experiences and tragedies. And I won't deny that she was right - in many ways I've been fortunate. But, I explained to her, I had a lot of people in my life, including her, who had suffered through all kinds of experiences and tragedies. I didn't need to stick my hand in the fire to know it was hot - I saw the scars it left on her. We don't all have to learn through personal experience. It isn't necessarily the misery we personally experience that helps us become better people, but our refusal to stand by complacently and tell ourselves that we'll never walk in their shoes; we're better than they are, and thus more entitled to rewards in life by virtue of our stellar choices.
I believe that character isn't built based on what we've suffered, but on whether we learned to show compassion to those whose suffering we witnessed. We don't need to go to jail to learn compassion for criminals - we just need to be humble enough to admit that had the circumstances in our own lives varied slightly, we could be the one on the other side of the bars. When we can see ourselves as the flawed beings we are, we can see just how much more we have to learn. And when we embrace our ignorance we can look to the universe and say, "Teach me. I'm ready to learn now. Don't let me live life so complacently that it takes a disaster to teach me humanity."
We can become humble enough to want to learn even when our lives are running smoothly and there doesn't seem to be a disaster in sight.
I think it all starts with compassion. When we can accept that horrible things just happen, without wasting our energy trying to find ways to reason these miseries into some kind of justification, we free up more of our energy to feel empathy, and when we feel empathy we'll help each other learn and grow by simply being there to support each other, long before the misery starts.
Next time you see somebody suffering, abandon the search for reasonable explanations. Stifle any desire you might have to assess how deserving of this fate they may be. Reject all of the pat platitudes about how much they'll learn and grow from the tragedy they face. If you want to say something to comfort, you might start with four simple words:
You don't deserve this.
Sunday, 28 February 2016
Saturday, 13 February 2016
Flowery Speeches - and What that Floral Arrangement Might Be Saying - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Sunday is Valentine's Day, and florists everywhere will be swamped with orders for red roses. Don't get me wrong - I think roses are pretty, and red is my favorite colour. It's just that red roses are somewhat trite. Men propose with red roses, they buy red roses for anniversaries and birthdays and graduations and...
That's okay - after all red roses symbolize love and enduring passion, so they have multiple expressive applications. However, there are other colours of roses out there - as well as a myriad of other flowers in the world, and they all have different meanings.
An avid cross stitcher in my youth, I once made a sampler that incorporated Victorian meanings of various flowers, and the subject has interested me since. While researching this subject pre-post, I found this lovely little verse (not my own) which describes the Victorian fascination with floral symbolism.
There is a language little known
Lovers claim it as their own.
Its symbols smile upon the land,
Wrought by nature's wonderous hand;
And in their silent beauty speak
Of life and joy to those who seek
For Love Divine and sunny hours
In the language of the flowers.
- The Language of Flowers, London, 1875
I wrote my own poem about this complex floral code a few years ago. (I've included a "key" at the end of this post that shows what each of the italicized flowers signified.) As you'll see, choosing the perfect bouquet took a little more planning in the Victorian era.
Flowery Speeches:
First came the daisies
that spoke of affection,
then a few pansies
showed thoughtful reflection.
snowdrops and bluebells
then came bound together
in hopes I'd be constant
through fair and foul weather.
Tulips soon followed,
his feelings declaring -
and then red roses,
for he was quite daring.
"Clover!" I pleaded,
"I'm modest and meek -
a bit of alyssum
is more what I seek.
White lilacs would help,
for your making me blush!
Red roses already?
Slow down! What's the rush?"
Then came the hyacinths,
he knew, I am sure -
just how much discomfort
I'd had to endure.
I sent back a poppy -
just to console him -
without the right bouquet
his chances would be slim.
While daisies are surely
a good place to start,
'tis violets and primrose
that win a girl's heart.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, June, 2010
A Rose is not a Rose!
Indeed those Victorian suitors had to think out their floral gifts carefully. This secret "language of flowers" proved that you couldn't send just any old rose to get a positive response from the object of your desire. A rose in full bloom meant one thing (mature love) and a rosebud meant another (youthful love). Even giving a gift of rose leaves held a secret message - "you may hope". The colour of the rose(s) sent was especially important. (This was equally true of other flowers too.) The floral colour code for roses was something like this:
- Red symbolized romantic love and enduring passion.
- White represented humility, purity and innocence.
- Yellow meant jealousy in Victorian times (but savvy modern florists have declared the new meaning to be friendship.) After all, who'd want to proclaim their jealousy, or belief that their beloved is jealous? Sounds like a really bad idea to me. So good for you, florists, for the clever re-branding.
- Pale Pink symbolized grace and gentleness, while darker hues were used to convey gratitude and appreciation.
- Orange roses represented enthusiasm and desire. (Only a daring suitor would've sent these!)
- Purple represented enchantment and love at first sight.
Beware of the Following!
The (little bit) of research into the subject I've done seems to indicate that yellow flowers didn't tend to come with very complimentary meanings. Yellow lilies meant falsehood and giddiness. Yellow carnations symbolized rejection. Marigolds meant cruelty, grief and jealousy. Yellow chrysanthemums represented slighted love, and as with roses, a yellow hyacinth signified jealousy. And while we now see daffodils as cheerful spring flowers, they used to represent egotism, vanity and lies.
Receiving a striped carnation from your lover was never a good sign, as it meant "I can't be with you." (Another woman? His parents don't approve? Or did he merely mean he wasn't going to show up for tonight's planned social event? Those Victorian ladies would have to do a bit of sleuthing to figure out exactly what message was intended when that flower was given at that particular time.)
A posy of orange lilies was pretty insulting - they represented hate, disdain and pride. A bouquet of burdock meant he found you "inopportune" or boring, while a gift of hydrangeas meant he was indifferent, or found you cold or vain. Getting petunias wasn't a good thing either - they signified resentment. As for stink weed, I found no references to it, but I'm guessing it would send a fairly clear message to the recipient.
Might I Suggest...?
Okay - so it's Valentine's Day (or your anniversary or his/her birthday or - insert floral gift-giving occasion here) and you want to send flowers, but I've convinced you that roses are a bit overdone. What do you do? Here are a few creative suggestions:
Camellias mean steadfastness and excellence. (And they're pretty like roses, but more underused.)
Peonies (which are hard to kill in gardens around here, and thus easily and cheaply obtained in season) symbolize healing, a happy life and a happy marriage.
Tulips tend to mean the same things as the corresponding colour of roses these days - except that pinks represent happiness and confidence, and purple tulips mean you see her/him as "your queen/king."
Freesias signify trust.
Irises represent faith, wisdom, value and friendship.
Go to a garden store and pick up some arbutus as a romantic gesture (it means, "I love only thee"), or a clematis, which shows you admire his/her creativity and liveliness. Plant some geraniums together to represent the hardships you've surpassed - or some ferns or purple lilacs as a precautionary measure - both signify protection.
I know if you're thinking of Valentine's Day arrangements a lot of these suggestions may not be readily available, and if you live in a cold climate you can't get out and do any planting today. Still, you can begin planning a garden that holds special significance for both of you. (A lot of trees, herbs and even edibles have symbolic meanings too.) Study the language of flowers and decide what plants you might like to put on your windowsill or plant in the spring.
Feeling really creative? Skip the flowers and give a bouquet of bamboo (strength and loyalty), cat tails (peace and prosperity) and moss (maternal love and charity).
Or forget about bouquets of any kind, and just share some nice garlicky spaghetti together. Garlic represents courage and strength - two qualities that are needed in abundance in any lasting relationship.
(I wonder what the cocoa bean represents? Now I crave chocolate.) Forget the flowers altogether and buy your significant other some Lindor.
Happy Valentine's Day!
P. S - Here's the "key" to my poem.
Daisies - innocence, purity; affection
Pansies - thoughtfulness; reflection
Snowdrops - hope
Bluebells - constancy
Tulips - declared love
Red Roses - enduring or passionate love
Clover - "Think of me"
Alyssum - worth beyond beauty
Lilacs (white) - modesty; youthful innocence
Purple Hyacinths - "I'm sorry"; "Please forgive me"
Poppies (white) - consolation (Red or orange poppies represent peace, eternal sleep and remembrance)
Violets - faithfulness
Primrose - Lasting love, "I can't live without you."
That's okay - after all red roses symbolize love and enduring passion, so they have multiple expressive applications. However, there are other colours of roses out there - as well as a myriad of other flowers in the world, and they all have different meanings.
An avid cross stitcher in my youth, I once made a sampler that incorporated Victorian meanings of various flowers, and the subject has interested me since. While researching this subject pre-post, I found this lovely little verse (not my own) which describes the Victorian fascination with floral symbolism.
There is a language little known
Lovers claim it as their own.
Its symbols smile upon the land,
Wrought by nature's wonderous hand;
And in their silent beauty speak
Of life and joy to those who seek
For Love Divine and sunny hours
In the language of the flowers.
- The Language of Flowers, London, 1875
I wrote my own poem about this complex floral code a few years ago. (I've included a "key" at the end of this post that shows what each of the italicized flowers signified.) As you'll see, choosing the perfect bouquet took a little more planning in the Victorian era.
Flowery Speeches:
First came the daisies
that spoke of affection,
then a few pansies
showed thoughtful reflection.
snowdrops and bluebells
then came bound together
in hopes I'd be constant
through fair and foul weather.
Tulips soon followed,
his feelings declaring -
and then red roses,
for he was quite daring.
"Clover!" I pleaded,
"I'm modest and meek -
a bit of alyssum
is more what I seek.
White lilacs would help,
for your making me blush!
Red roses already?
Slow down! What's the rush?"
Then came the hyacinths,
he knew, I am sure -
just how much discomfort
I'd had to endure.
I sent back a poppy -
just to console him -
without the right bouquet
his chances would be slim.
While daisies are surely
a good place to start,
'tis violets and primrose
that win a girl's heart.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, June, 2010
A Rose is not a Rose!
Indeed those Victorian suitors had to think out their floral gifts carefully. This secret "language of flowers" proved that you couldn't send just any old rose to get a positive response from the object of your desire. A rose in full bloom meant one thing (mature love) and a rosebud meant another (youthful love). Even giving a gift of rose leaves held a secret message - "you may hope". The colour of the rose(s) sent was especially important. (This was equally true of other flowers too.) The floral colour code for roses was something like this:
- Red symbolized romantic love and enduring passion.
- White represented humility, purity and innocence.
- Yellow meant jealousy in Victorian times (but savvy modern florists have declared the new meaning to be friendship.) After all, who'd want to proclaim their jealousy, or belief that their beloved is jealous? Sounds like a really bad idea to me. So good for you, florists, for the clever re-branding.
- Pale Pink symbolized grace and gentleness, while darker hues were used to convey gratitude and appreciation.
- Orange roses represented enthusiasm and desire. (Only a daring suitor would've sent these!)
- Purple represented enchantment and love at first sight.
Beware of the Following!
The (little bit) of research into the subject I've done seems to indicate that yellow flowers didn't tend to come with very complimentary meanings. Yellow lilies meant falsehood and giddiness. Yellow carnations symbolized rejection. Marigolds meant cruelty, grief and jealousy. Yellow chrysanthemums represented slighted love, and as with roses, a yellow hyacinth signified jealousy. And while we now see daffodils as cheerful spring flowers, they used to represent egotism, vanity and lies.
Receiving a striped carnation from your lover was never a good sign, as it meant "I can't be with you." (Another woman? His parents don't approve? Or did he merely mean he wasn't going to show up for tonight's planned social event? Those Victorian ladies would have to do a bit of sleuthing to figure out exactly what message was intended when that flower was given at that particular time.)
A posy of orange lilies was pretty insulting - they represented hate, disdain and pride. A bouquet of burdock meant he found you "inopportune" or boring, while a gift of hydrangeas meant he was indifferent, or found you cold or vain. Getting petunias wasn't a good thing either - they signified resentment. As for stink weed, I found no references to it, but I'm guessing it would send a fairly clear message to the recipient.
Might I Suggest...?
Okay - so it's Valentine's Day (or your anniversary or his/her birthday or - insert floral gift-giving occasion here) and you want to send flowers, but I've convinced you that roses are a bit overdone. What do you do? Here are a few creative suggestions:
Camellias mean steadfastness and excellence. (And they're pretty like roses, but more underused.)
Peonies (which are hard to kill in gardens around here, and thus easily and cheaply obtained in season) symbolize healing, a happy life and a happy marriage.
Tulips tend to mean the same things as the corresponding colour of roses these days - except that pinks represent happiness and confidence, and purple tulips mean you see her/him as "your queen/king."
Freesias signify trust.
Irises represent faith, wisdom, value and friendship.
Go to a garden store and pick up some arbutus as a romantic gesture (it means, "I love only thee"), or a clematis, which shows you admire his/her creativity and liveliness. Plant some geraniums together to represent the hardships you've surpassed - or some ferns or purple lilacs as a precautionary measure - both signify protection.
I know if you're thinking of Valentine's Day arrangements a lot of these suggestions may not be readily available, and if you live in a cold climate you can't get out and do any planting today. Still, you can begin planning a garden that holds special significance for both of you. (A lot of trees, herbs and even edibles have symbolic meanings too.) Study the language of flowers and decide what plants you might like to put on your windowsill or plant in the spring.
Feeling really creative? Skip the flowers and give a bouquet of bamboo (strength and loyalty), cat tails (peace and prosperity) and moss (maternal love and charity).
Or forget about bouquets of any kind, and just share some nice garlicky spaghetti together. Garlic represents courage and strength - two qualities that are needed in abundance in any lasting relationship.
(I wonder what the cocoa bean represents? Now I crave chocolate.) Forget the flowers altogether and buy your significant other some Lindor.
Happy Valentine's Day!
P. S - Here's the "key" to my poem.
Daisies - innocence, purity; affection
Pansies - thoughtfulness; reflection
Snowdrops - hope
Bluebells - constancy
Tulips - declared love
Red Roses - enduring or passionate love
Clover - "Think of me"
Alyssum - worth beyond beauty
Lilacs (white) - modesty; youthful innocence
Purple Hyacinths - "I'm sorry"; "Please forgive me"
Poppies (white) - consolation (Red or orange poppies represent peace, eternal sleep and remembrance)
Violets - faithfulness
Primrose - Lasting love, "I can't live without you."
Tuesday, 2 February 2016
Don't be a Dunce: Think Twice, Write Once - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Think Before You Ink!
Unless you have a cupboard
secured by lock and key
to hide away your private notes
where no one else can see,
chances are the words you pen
at some point will be read -
maybe not while you're alive,
but likely once you're dead.
Thus I'll offer some advice
before you take up quill -
there are things you ought not write;
some thoughts you shouldn't spill.
Don't write about your sex life
or document your lies.
Don't keep a list of all your sins
or people you despise.
Don't write hate mail to in-laws
or to celebrities.
(Or anything that makes your shrink
feel very ill at ease.)
Don't write about the laws you broke
(or those you'd like to break)
or punishment you might invoke -
consider what's at stake!
Try to maintain dignity,
the whole world need not know
the nasty places where you've let
your darkest musings go.
Think about who's apt to read
before too much is shared;
your privacy can't be regained
once private thoughts are bared.
So, before you write the tale
for everyone to see
consider how it might be viewed
by all posterity.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 27th, 2016
It was an email that sent Martha to prison a dozen years ago, and a few files that made Tricky Dick face impeachment about three decades earlier. Evidence that the written word can come back to haunt us is everywhere. Being careful about what I wrote was a concept that suddenly hit home for me when I was sixteen and entered my bedroom to see my older sister and her boyfriend reading my diary. Thankfully, it was one I'd written a few years earlier. By then even I knew that my adolescent self had written with a certain campy, melodramatic flair. One quote, in particular, that had said sister and boyfriend in stitches was, "I love him, I LOVE him, I LOVE HIM! But only as a friend!!!"
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't affronted by their perusal of my diary, but there was a praise seeking part of me that was highly gratified by the fact that they at least had the good sense to laugh in the right places. Besides, between the ages of eleven and thirteen I really didn't do anything too shameful, so nothing too damning would be brought to light by their reading of it. Still, the experience reminded me that I lived in a household with seven other people, and it taught me to be careful about expressing private thoughts in even a personal venue, because you just never knew who might read them someday.
I've got about twenty volumes of journals on my shelf that document my life pretty thoroughly, and yet there are thoughts and feelings and experiences that I've been careful about not fleshing out with any great detail within those books. I know that might make them a tad less interesting if my sons (or future grandchildren) ever decide to read them when I've gone, but it will save them a bit of embarrassment and perhaps keep my reputation intact.
I can't claim that I never wrote about those things, because I did. I just learned that it was even more cathartic to write those more "colourful" descriptions and musings on scrap paper - spew out the negativity, write the more questionable details - and then tear it all to shreds. My journals aren't exactly sanitized, and there will be some squirming if they're read, but I think my literary regurgitation elsewhere calmed them to the point where they'd at least get a PG rating, and I can live with that.
Technology has made journal writing (the old fashioned way, with pens and paper) practically obsolete. Now people express themselves, document their lives, and communicate with friends (and strangers) online. Some people write blogs that serve as a window into their lives and thoughts, and some record their lives in status updates and photographs posted on Facebook. I'm dismayed by how many of these postings demonstrate a lack of discernment on the part of the postee. Sometimes I cringe at the personal and private nature of things that many share without a moment's hesitation. At other times I marvel that some are so foolish that they risk their livelihood with unflattering postings about employers, while others post photographs that indicate crimes and indiscretions. Occasionally I notice postings that look like a cry for help from those apparently sinking under the weight of emotions that they don't know where else to share. How did we get to the point where too many people scream for attention online and deny the existence of problems and issues in real life?
I think that the concept of privacy has been weirdly misconstrued in our world. Those who show a lack of prudence by taking nude photos of themselves see nothing wrong with their actions, but are quick to cry foul when anyone exploits those images for gain. (To use a gun analogy, they've supplied the ammunition, but don't want anyone to actually shoot.) And that's part of the problem - privacy laws in our country are skewed toward the protection of assets, rather than preserving the honest to goodness privacy of any individual. I have to wonder how many people actually have a firm grasp on what is personal anymore. Have concepts like dignity become completely outmoded? Why does it seem so difficult for many to comprehend that the words (and images) they share can have far-reaching effects on their lives - and on the lives of those around them? The future is determined by the thoughts and feelings we express today.
Why does anyone need to know who we sleep with, what parties we go to, or where we are every hour of the day? Should we be so quick to share the details of the last spat we had with a friend or family member with the five hundred "friends" we have on Facebook? Should we be tweeting about the end of our relationship before we've had time to digest why it failed? Why do we need validation for every word we say and every choice we make? I'm no psychologist, but I've thought about this a lot and will share my theory. (I know some will disagree, and that's okay.)
I think we seek attention from seemingly anonymous audiences online because we've all become increasingly disconnected from the people closest to us. We've lost, or at the very least, we're losing the ability to communicate on a deep and personal level. It's harder to look someone in the eye and watch real, human emotional responses than it is to read the banal replies that show up in our news feed and count the emoticons that are posted when nobody knows how to find the right words to relieve our pain and frustration. We would rather strip naked for the world, (or at least all of our "followers") than confront our own fears and failures, and rationally do the work required to solve the problems in our lives and mend our damaged relationships. In short, we're all becoming afraid of intimacy, so we connect in very broad, impersonal ways. We text, we tweet; we update that status. We dump our immediate feelings on a voyeuristic audience, and we forget that fifteen minutes later we might feel very differently. We vent in haste, and if we repent at all, it's at leisure.
I'm not sure why so many people seem to forget that once something has been read, the reader can't unread it. Perhaps the immediacy of this technological age has made many less capable of discriminating between what should be shared and what shouldn't, and what they think or feel in the moment is broadcast before they've had that second thought. Perhaps the narcissism that's run rampant in the "selfie generation" has increased the need for immediate gratification - attention from the masses. We're kind of like my sixteen year old self - we know that we're allowing a violation of our privacy, but at the same time we want to see if the audience we're exposing our innermost feelings to will at least have the grace to laugh and cry in the right places - even if we have regrets later about allowing other people to read our personal thoughts.
I know that writing our thoughts and feelings down can be a very freeing and healing experience, but for the love of all that's good and sacred, just listen to one piece of advice from someone who's been writing things down from the time that computers occupied city blocks and printed out punch cards. Take time to consider your thoughts long and hard. Examine them from every angle, and consider who is apt to read them. Weigh your current mood - will you feel the same way an hour from now? Tomorrow? Next week? Is there any chance that you'll regret airing this message in the future? Once you've stopped to consider all of these factors and decided that what you have to say really matters (to you, at least), then, (and only then), you can write it, type it or tweet it.
Once it's "out there" - recorded in that journal for posterity - or (especially) in cyberspace for all to see, there's no taking it back. You can erase it, and you can delete it, but in the five seconds between when you posted it or hit that send button there's a really good chance that somebody - probably the worst person possible - has read what you tried to take back.
Remember this simple adage:
Don't be a dunce.
Think twice - write once.
Unless you have a cupboard
secured by lock and key
to hide away your private notes
where no one else can see,
chances are the words you pen
at some point will be read -
maybe not while you're alive,
but likely once you're dead.
Thus I'll offer some advice
before you take up quill -
there are things you ought not write;
some thoughts you shouldn't spill.
Don't write about your sex life
or document your lies.
Don't keep a list of all your sins
or people you despise.
Don't write hate mail to in-laws
or to celebrities.
(Or anything that makes your shrink
feel very ill at ease.)
Don't write about the laws you broke
(or those you'd like to break)
or punishment you might invoke -
consider what's at stake!
Try to maintain dignity,
the whole world need not know
the nasty places where you've let
your darkest musings go.
Think about who's apt to read
before too much is shared;
your privacy can't be regained
once private thoughts are bared.
So, before you write the tale
for everyone to see
consider how it might be viewed
by all posterity.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 27th, 2016
It was an email that sent Martha to prison a dozen years ago, and a few files that made Tricky Dick face impeachment about three decades earlier. Evidence that the written word can come back to haunt us is everywhere. Being careful about what I wrote was a concept that suddenly hit home for me when I was sixteen and entered my bedroom to see my older sister and her boyfriend reading my diary. Thankfully, it was one I'd written a few years earlier. By then even I knew that my adolescent self had written with a certain campy, melodramatic flair. One quote, in particular, that had said sister and boyfriend in stitches was, "I love him, I LOVE him, I LOVE HIM! But only as a friend!!!"
I'd be lying if I said I wasn't affronted by their perusal of my diary, but there was a praise seeking part of me that was highly gratified by the fact that they at least had the good sense to laugh in the right places. Besides, between the ages of eleven and thirteen I really didn't do anything too shameful, so nothing too damning would be brought to light by their reading of it. Still, the experience reminded me that I lived in a household with seven other people, and it taught me to be careful about expressing private thoughts in even a personal venue, because you just never knew who might read them someday.
I've got about twenty volumes of journals on my shelf that document my life pretty thoroughly, and yet there are thoughts and feelings and experiences that I've been careful about not fleshing out with any great detail within those books. I know that might make them a tad less interesting if my sons (or future grandchildren) ever decide to read them when I've gone, but it will save them a bit of embarrassment and perhaps keep my reputation intact.
I can't claim that I never wrote about those things, because I did. I just learned that it was even more cathartic to write those more "colourful" descriptions and musings on scrap paper - spew out the negativity, write the more questionable details - and then tear it all to shreds. My journals aren't exactly sanitized, and there will be some squirming if they're read, but I think my literary regurgitation elsewhere calmed them to the point where they'd at least get a PG rating, and I can live with that.
Technology has made journal writing (the old fashioned way, with pens and paper) practically obsolete. Now people express themselves, document their lives, and communicate with friends (and strangers) online. Some people write blogs that serve as a window into their lives and thoughts, and some record their lives in status updates and photographs posted on Facebook. I'm dismayed by how many of these postings demonstrate a lack of discernment on the part of the postee. Sometimes I cringe at the personal and private nature of things that many share without a moment's hesitation. At other times I marvel that some are so foolish that they risk their livelihood with unflattering postings about employers, while others post photographs that indicate crimes and indiscretions. Occasionally I notice postings that look like a cry for help from those apparently sinking under the weight of emotions that they don't know where else to share. How did we get to the point where too many people scream for attention online and deny the existence of problems and issues in real life?
I think that the concept of privacy has been weirdly misconstrued in our world. Those who show a lack of prudence by taking nude photos of themselves see nothing wrong with their actions, but are quick to cry foul when anyone exploits those images for gain. (To use a gun analogy, they've supplied the ammunition, but don't want anyone to actually shoot.) And that's part of the problem - privacy laws in our country are skewed toward the protection of assets, rather than preserving the honest to goodness privacy of any individual. I have to wonder how many people actually have a firm grasp on what is personal anymore. Have concepts like dignity become completely outmoded? Why does it seem so difficult for many to comprehend that the words (and images) they share can have far-reaching effects on their lives - and on the lives of those around them? The future is determined by the thoughts and feelings we express today.
Why does anyone need to know who we sleep with, what parties we go to, or where we are every hour of the day? Should we be so quick to share the details of the last spat we had with a friend or family member with the five hundred "friends" we have on Facebook? Should we be tweeting about the end of our relationship before we've had time to digest why it failed? Why do we need validation for every word we say and every choice we make? I'm no psychologist, but I've thought about this a lot and will share my theory. (I know some will disagree, and that's okay.)
I think we seek attention from seemingly anonymous audiences online because we've all become increasingly disconnected from the people closest to us. We've lost, or at the very least, we're losing the ability to communicate on a deep and personal level. It's harder to look someone in the eye and watch real, human emotional responses than it is to read the banal replies that show up in our news feed and count the emoticons that are posted when nobody knows how to find the right words to relieve our pain and frustration. We would rather strip naked for the world, (or at least all of our "followers") than confront our own fears and failures, and rationally do the work required to solve the problems in our lives and mend our damaged relationships. In short, we're all becoming afraid of intimacy, so we connect in very broad, impersonal ways. We text, we tweet; we update that status. We dump our immediate feelings on a voyeuristic audience, and we forget that fifteen minutes later we might feel very differently. We vent in haste, and if we repent at all, it's at leisure.
I'm not sure why so many people seem to forget that once something has been read, the reader can't unread it. Perhaps the immediacy of this technological age has made many less capable of discriminating between what should be shared and what shouldn't, and what they think or feel in the moment is broadcast before they've had that second thought. Perhaps the narcissism that's run rampant in the "selfie generation" has increased the need for immediate gratification - attention from the masses. We're kind of like my sixteen year old self - we know that we're allowing a violation of our privacy, but at the same time we want to see if the audience we're exposing our innermost feelings to will at least have the grace to laugh and cry in the right places - even if we have regrets later about allowing other people to read our personal thoughts.
I know that writing our thoughts and feelings down can be a very freeing and healing experience, but for the love of all that's good and sacred, just listen to one piece of advice from someone who's been writing things down from the time that computers occupied city blocks and printed out punch cards. Take time to consider your thoughts long and hard. Examine them from every angle, and consider who is apt to read them. Weigh your current mood - will you feel the same way an hour from now? Tomorrow? Next week? Is there any chance that you'll regret airing this message in the future? Once you've stopped to consider all of these factors and decided that what you have to say really matters (to you, at least), then, (and only then), you can write it, type it or tweet it.
Once it's "out there" - recorded in that journal for posterity - or (especially) in cyberspace for all to see, there's no taking it back. You can erase it, and you can delete it, but in the five seconds between when you posted it or hit that send button there's a really good chance that somebody - probably the worst person possible - has read what you tried to take back.
Remember this simple adage:
Don't be a dunce.
Think twice - write once.
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