The Family We Choose
When it comes to family
you might win; you might lose -
with our friends it's clear to see
that love's something we choose.
Your family must love you
(they haven't got much choice!),
but knowing that friends choose to
is reason to rejoice!
In spite of your glaring flaws
they chose you from the crowd -
a fact that ought to give pause -
then make you cheer out loud!
They aren't compelled to love you,
to listen or to care,
and knowing that they want to
should make us more aware
that even on our worst days
they see in us our best;
and multiply in all ways
how much our lives are blessed.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 27th, 2020
As a nomadic soul who has lived in six towns over the past three decades, I can't even begin to explain how much those few friends who have maintained contact through my many moves mean to me.
Those of you who have lived in one area your entire lives have no idea how hard it is to establish new social circles as an adult. I envy the lifelong friendships you have - the annual "gal pal" weekends and the shopping trips you take together. I haven't experienced that kind of friendship since I married three decades ago.
When you are the one who moves on, you learn how easy it is for your place to be filled. The friends you leave behind have other friends, and those friendships usually predate the bonds they established with you. While some of these people are quite sad to see you leave, you know they won't be lonely - their other friendships will soon fill the gap you leave behind. It is a thought that is both comforting and depressing - we don't want our friends to be too sad about our departure, but we secretly fear that we'll be forgotten altogether. Only rarely is the connection strong enough that the remaining parties will really make an effort to maintain more than superficial contact - and while I can't speak for everyone who has changed cities more than once or twice, those are the friendships that matter most to me.
In October, we hosted a group of friends that we used to regularly socialize with more than twenty years ago. The circumstances that brought us all together had changed, and we were all different people than we had been two decades ago, but we still valued the bonds we had forged. We vowed we would all get together again soon, and not wait for another two or three years to pass before we had another reunion.
This past weekend, we got together with one of these couples. Knowing that they'd be babysitting grandchildren in the GTA over my birthday weekend, they invited us to join them at their son's apartment so we could celebrate together. It was a casual affair - we ate our dinner together after the kiddos had been fed, and they watched cartoons while we ate and talked. They bought me a birthday present - a colour changing mug that says "Friends are the family you choose." It's a sentiment that I wholeheartedly endorse.
I like the fact that this mug starts out plain and brown, and is illustrated with a kitten and a puppy. It demonstrates just how unlikely some of our friendship pairings might be - and how when we're in hot water, and the tea of life can be a bit hard to sip - the beauty of friendship often shows itself in its most vivid hues.
I grew up in a big, boisterous family with five siblings - all very different from each other. We love each other because we share common history, common parents, relatives and genes. Other than those things, most of us don't have much in common. We live in far flung cities, enjoy varied pastimes, ascribe to our own belief systems and vote different ways. I've sometimes wondered if any of them would actually become friends with me if we met as strangers.
We love each other because we need to, and we have to - because we are family. It isn't a mark of particular pride to me that these people make room in their hearts for me, and I for them - it's what society expects from a group who all sprang from the same genetic stock and grew up in a common household - sharing bedrooms, bathrooms, squabbles over possessions, and perceived parental slights. Who but a sibling can understand your gripe about a parent without making you feel completely disloyal? They don't always understand us or like us, but they care. We can rest assured that they'll show up if we really need them, and they'll fill seats at our funeral if they outlive us.
Those friendships that last over decades and across miles are different. We bond with these people because we choose to - and because they choose to reciprocate.We don't agree on every single aspect of our lives, but somehow it's okay. Faults that might seem intolerable in a spouse or family member are more easily overlooked in someone who interacts with us because they want to. Differences in opinion are more easily set aside when we receive, and reciprocate, hospitality. It is harder to take someone for granted, or to be unforgiving, when we know they have made a conscious decision to like us, even though we might occasionally give them reason not to.
These are the people who hear your secrets and keep them. They don't judge you when you toss around loose words in frustration and anger. They stick by you when you are such a misery to be around that your husband, kids and siblings enjoy you about as much as a small piece of Lego wedged in their shoe.
They give you praise that is genuine, compliments that you never even considered as applicable to you, and pep talks that don't sound condescending. They tell you off when they need to, but never in a way designed to deliberately hurt you. They will be brutally honest at times, but never unfair.
Your conversations might be less frequent than you'd like, but they tend to come when you need them most, and you cherish them like rare and precious jewels. When you actually get to see each other face to face, no matter how long it's been, you pick up old conversations as though you chatted with them yesterday. Although the circumstances in your separate lives may have radically changed, you always seem to rediscover what brought you together as friends, and can still enjoy each other's companionship.
In an age where technology gives us unlimited access to hordes of people who don't matter much to us, we have increased opportunities to spend time with people who don't play an everyday role in our lives - even though we wish they could. The messages my faraway friends send me buoy my spirit when I feel lonely, and motivate me to reach out to those who are in closer proximity - those people who might become dear friends...someday.
That's the crux of the difficulty for introverted nomads like me - the fact that friendships take time to establish. While I am in my limbo state - surrounded by pleasant acquaintances who have not yet won my trust and become cherished friends - I can't help but be grateful for the people who have loved me across the spans of time and distance. For some mysterious reason, we continue to make the same choice - to care when we aren't obligated to, and to love and appreciate each other simply because we can - and that is a beautiful thing.
Tuesday, 28 January 2020
Thursday, 2 January 2020
Looking Ahead to a Year of "Perfect Vision" By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
20/20 Vision
It's easy to glance backward
when we should look ahead -
not focus on the future,
rewind the past instead!
But nothing is accomplished
when we relive misdeeds,
and endless rumination
is not what this muse needs!
Thus as new year's beginning
I'll inventory soul -
take stock of dreams and wishes
and try to gain control.
I'll list goals I can work on -
forgive those I cannot -
and tally up my fortunes;
give thanks for all I've got.
I'll count up those I love most,
and those who count on me,
and offer them affection
with generosity.
I'll carefully examine
the things I can improve;
minimizung obstacles
that I cannot remove.
In year of 20/20
I hope my sight is clear
to see opportunities
wherever they appear.
I hope in vivid detail
my eyes will always see
the beauty found in nature,
and in humanity.
May I see self more kindly,
and view others with grace;
help maximize potential
and inner qualms erase.
May I direct my focus
with utmost clarity
to just and noble causes
that fight disparity.
With thoughts more forward focused,
and sight lines broad and clear,
my aim is to contribute
to a "perfect vision" year.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 2nd, 2020
Last year was a hard year for me - a difficult end to a decade that was full of change and often difficult transitions.
Ten years ago I lived a very different life, in another place and another house. I had two sons living at home, and strict dogmas that I adhered to. I lived my life with an almost obnoxious level of certainty that I was doing most things as they ought to be done.
Eight years ago I began a journey that brought me to another state of mind entirely. I began to rethink a lot of the ways I had always lived my life, putting the focus on what I really believed in my heart as opposed to what I felt I *should* believe. I moved out of my comfort zone and spent the better part of a year living in Toronto with my son, only living in my home in Kitchener on weekends. It was an eye opening year that initiated a lot more changes in my life.
Five years ago my younger son got engaged - then married six months later. Nothing bound us to Kitchener any longer; our younger son had received his undergraduate degree, and he and his wife moved to Boston to pursue further education. Our older son was between jobs and open to the idea of a change in locale. My husband was self-employed, and said he could work from home wherever we chose to live, so we decided it was time to leave the city behind and embark on a new adventure in a more pastoral setting.
Four years ago the hunt for a unique property began, and eight months later we moved to our new/old home. New beginnings are exciting, but difficult. Every time I move I feel optimistic - surely "this time" I will find my "happy place" - friendships; purpose; community. Establishing myself is always harder than I think it will be.
Life is often difficult for nomadic introverts like me. I struggle to get to know people. I hate making small talk. I don't like going through the process of "finding friends" - the feeling that I am weighing the merits of others, and being weighed in return. I hate the standard "friend interview" questions - "What do you do?" (Really? You don't work??? Incredulous stare..)
"So, where did you go to university?...Oh - you didn't finish?" (Disappointed head shake..) At that point my telepathy kicks in, and it seems clear to me that I'm viewed as someone who is boring and has little to offer. (I've paid a heavy price for a few of my earlier life choices.) My inner critic is always quick to chime in, and hard to shut up, which makes the friend-making thing that much harder still.
My focus on finding friends stalled in the fall of 2017 when I discovered the joys of being a host mom to a Brazilian student attending the local high school. Since then we've hosted three more boys - two from Brazil, and one from Italy. I found a few friends who also hosted students, and became best buds with a succession of seventeen year old boys.
While my husband was busy working, and getting involved with municipal politics, I manned the home front - kept the boys fed, and baked copious batches of well appreciated home-made cookies. I had interesting, fun, and sometimes challenging conversations with our adopted "sons." They told me I was "a good English teacher." They made me feel useful and appreciated. They kept me sane!
While they stayed with us they were our kids. We watched television together. We argued at the table. We explored the local haunts, went on shopping trips, celebrated holidays and birthdays, took road trips - lots of upsides to the experience - but one really big downside. You love them to bits - but then they go home. We hold out hope that our Italian son will visit someday, but when kids go back to Brazil you know that unless your finances allow for frequent trips to South America, or sending plane tickets so they can visit you, your chances of seeing them much in the future - if ever - aren't great.
For the past six months I've felt lonely and rudderless without my international sons. Very few exchange students came to the local school in the fall, so we had no opportunity to host. It was another disappointment in a year full of hard revelations. I had health issues arise that reminded me that I'm not invincible and grappled with the concept of mortality as I've watched friends and family lose loved ones. I've seen aging friends and family suffer injuries and declining health.
I've struggled with my role as "the mayor's wife." (How can I keep a low profile and avoid recognition while still being seen as sufficiently supportive? How can I censure my opinions on those occasions when I'm asked for them? How do I deal with people who want to see my aging self as nothing more than an escort on an arm?)
Last year I often felt lonely, emotionally flat, unmotivated and discouraged. This year I want things to be different. I have a clear vision of what I plan to do differently to facilitate positive change.
I'm working on getting my driver's license. This is a big deal for me. Life with a narcoleptic father (who often scared my impressionable childhood self by falling asleep behind the wheel!) made me fear learning to drive, but I'm working hard to conquer that fear. I've learned that people can sometimes treat you like a lesser being when you don't have a driver's license - and I'm sick of being viewed as "lacking independence" because I can't drive myself places. When I lived in the city I didn't feel the need to drive - I could walk most places I frequently went, and if I wanted, or needed, to venture further afield there was a bus stop at the corner. When you live in a very small town and have a husband who often needs to travel you can go a little stir crazy. This is the year I take the wheel!
Driving will open up some new opportunities for me, and allow me to explore the world outside my door. As for inner exploration, I have plans to do plenty of that as well.
One of my former students helped me set up my new iPad and figure out how to use the camera and edit photos. I've discovered that I love taking pictures! For Christmas I was given a gift certificate to take a few photography lessons, and I'm really looking forward to learning some skills from a professional photographer. I've learned that life often looks better through the eye of a lens.
Another of my former students exposed me to new forms of music - jazz, Bossa Nova, classical guitar. My tastes had grown predictable, and a little musical exploration was past due. Most days now I make a conscious effort to listen to something different.
I'm going to renew my commitment to writing - more poems, more blog posts, and perhaps a few new projects in the offing. It's easy to get discouraged when you put effort into writing blog posts that few read, thanks to Google/Facebook analytics, but I shall forge ahead. I will keep reminding myself that the size of my audience doesn't matter as much as my dedication to getting words and ideas in print. My brain needs more exercise.
Speaking of exercise - I'm determined to take more walks, use my treadmill, and utilize the gym membership I purchased last fall. I don't like going to the gym alone, but I'm going to try to be diligent. I know I feel better when I move - but that doesn't always make it easier. It's time to prioritize health and fitness.
There are things I need to do less often too - like listening to my inner critic! This year year I'm buying her a muzzle! I'm going to ask for less advice, and listen harder to my own instincts. I'm going to try to worry less about things I have no control over. I'm going to waste less time on trivialities and spend more time learning things - reading books, indulging my curiosity and coming up with creative solutions to the tired old conundrums that have plagued me far too long. I might even find a few new friends that way.
For too long, I have sat on the sidelines, watching life unfold around me without much participation. Some way, somehow I have to change that.
It's time to stop musing and start doing. It's time to contribute more than words to the world around me.
It's time to put a difficult year behind me and follow my vision into action. Wish me luck : )
It's easy to glance backward
when we should look ahead -
not focus on the future,
rewind the past instead!
But nothing is accomplished
when we relive misdeeds,
and endless rumination
is not what this muse needs!
Thus as new year's beginning
I'll inventory soul -
take stock of dreams and wishes
and try to gain control.
I'll list goals I can work on -
forgive those I cannot -
and tally up my fortunes;
give thanks for all I've got.
I'll count up those I love most,
and those who count on me,
and offer them affection
with generosity.
I'll carefully examine
the things I can improve;
minimizung obstacles
that I cannot remove.
In year of 20/20
I hope my sight is clear
to see opportunities
wherever they appear.
I hope in vivid detail
my eyes will always see
the beauty found in nature,
and in humanity.
May I see self more kindly,
and view others with grace;
help maximize potential
and inner qualms erase.
May I direct my focus
with utmost clarity
to just and noble causes
that fight disparity.
With thoughts more forward focused,
and sight lines broad and clear,
my aim is to contribute
to a "perfect vision" year.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, January 2nd, 2020
Last year was a hard year for me - a difficult end to a decade that was full of change and often difficult transitions.
Ten years ago I lived a very different life, in another place and another house. I had two sons living at home, and strict dogmas that I adhered to. I lived my life with an almost obnoxious level of certainty that I was doing most things as they ought to be done.
Eight years ago I began a journey that brought me to another state of mind entirely. I began to rethink a lot of the ways I had always lived my life, putting the focus on what I really believed in my heart as opposed to what I felt I *should* believe. I moved out of my comfort zone and spent the better part of a year living in Toronto with my son, only living in my home in Kitchener on weekends. It was an eye opening year that initiated a lot more changes in my life.
Five years ago my younger son got engaged - then married six months later. Nothing bound us to Kitchener any longer; our younger son had received his undergraduate degree, and he and his wife moved to Boston to pursue further education. Our older son was between jobs and open to the idea of a change in locale. My husband was self-employed, and said he could work from home wherever we chose to live, so we decided it was time to leave the city behind and embark on a new adventure in a more pastoral setting.
Four years ago the hunt for a unique property began, and eight months later we moved to our new/old home. New beginnings are exciting, but difficult. Every time I move I feel optimistic - surely "this time" I will find my "happy place" - friendships; purpose; community. Establishing myself is always harder than I think it will be.
Life is often difficult for nomadic introverts like me. I struggle to get to know people. I hate making small talk. I don't like going through the process of "finding friends" - the feeling that I am weighing the merits of others, and being weighed in return. I hate the standard "friend interview" questions - "What do you do?" (Really? You don't work??? Incredulous stare..)
"So, where did you go to university?...Oh - you didn't finish?" (Disappointed head shake..) At that point my telepathy kicks in, and it seems clear to me that I'm viewed as someone who is boring and has little to offer. (I've paid a heavy price for a few of my earlier life choices.) My inner critic is always quick to chime in, and hard to shut up, which makes the friend-making thing that much harder still.
My focus on finding friends stalled in the fall of 2017 when I discovered the joys of being a host mom to a Brazilian student attending the local high school. Since then we've hosted three more boys - two from Brazil, and one from Italy. I found a few friends who also hosted students, and became best buds with a succession of seventeen year old boys.
While my husband was busy working, and getting involved with municipal politics, I manned the home front - kept the boys fed, and baked copious batches of well appreciated home-made cookies. I had interesting, fun, and sometimes challenging conversations with our adopted "sons." They told me I was "a good English teacher." They made me feel useful and appreciated. They kept me sane!
While they stayed with us they were our kids. We watched television together. We argued at the table. We explored the local haunts, went on shopping trips, celebrated holidays and birthdays, took road trips - lots of upsides to the experience - but one really big downside. You love them to bits - but then they go home. We hold out hope that our Italian son will visit someday, but when kids go back to Brazil you know that unless your finances allow for frequent trips to South America, or sending plane tickets so they can visit you, your chances of seeing them much in the future - if ever - aren't great.
For the past six months I've felt lonely and rudderless without my international sons. Very few exchange students came to the local school in the fall, so we had no opportunity to host. It was another disappointment in a year full of hard revelations. I had health issues arise that reminded me that I'm not invincible and grappled with the concept of mortality as I've watched friends and family lose loved ones. I've seen aging friends and family suffer injuries and declining health.
I've struggled with my role as "the mayor's wife." (How can I keep a low profile and avoid recognition while still being seen as sufficiently supportive? How can I censure my opinions on those occasions when I'm asked for them? How do I deal with people who want to see my aging self as nothing more than an escort on an arm?)
Last year I often felt lonely, emotionally flat, unmotivated and discouraged. This year I want things to be different. I have a clear vision of what I plan to do differently to facilitate positive change.
I'm working on getting my driver's license. This is a big deal for me. Life with a narcoleptic father (who often scared my impressionable childhood self by falling asleep behind the wheel!) made me fear learning to drive, but I'm working hard to conquer that fear. I've learned that people can sometimes treat you like a lesser being when you don't have a driver's license - and I'm sick of being viewed as "lacking independence" because I can't drive myself places. When I lived in the city I didn't feel the need to drive - I could walk most places I frequently went, and if I wanted, or needed, to venture further afield there was a bus stop at the corner. When you live in a very small town and have a husband who often needs to travel you can go a little stir crazy. This is the year I take the wheel!
Driving will open up some new opportunities for me, and allow me to explore the world outside my door. As for inner exploration, I have plans to do plenty of that as well.
One of my former students helped me set up my new iPad and figure out how to use the camera and edit photos. I've discovered that I love taking pictures! For Christmas I was given a gift certificate to take a few photography lessons, and I'm really looking forward to learning some skills from a professional photographer. I've learned that life often looks better through the eye of a lens.
Another of my former students exposed me to new forms of music - jazz, Bossa Nova, classical guitar. My tastes had grown predictable, and a little musical exploration was past due. Most days now I make a conscious effort to listen to something different.
I'm going to renew my commitment to writing - more poems, more blog posts, and perhaps a few new projects in the offing. It's easy to get discouraged when you put effort into writing blog posts that few read, thanks to Google/Facebook analytics, but I shall forge ahead. I will keep reminding myself that the size of my audience doesn't matter as much as my dedication to getting words and ideas in print. My brain needs more exercise.
Speaking of exercise - I'm determined to take more walks, use my treadmill, and utilize the gym membership I purchased last fall. I don't like going to the gym alone, but I'm going to try to be diligent. I know I feel better when I move - but that doesn't always make it easier. It's time to prioritize health and fitness.
There are things I need to do less often too - like listening to my inner critic! This year year I'm buying her a muzzle! I'm going to ask for less advice, and listen harder to my own instincts. I'm going to try to worry less about things I have no control over. I'm going to waste less time on trivialities and spend more time learning things - reading books, indulging my curiosity and coming up with creative solutions to the tired old conundrums that have plagued me far too long. I might even find a few new friends that way.
For too long, I have sat on the sidelines, watching life unfold around me without much participation. Some way, somehow I have to change that.
It's time to stop musing and start doing. It's time to contribute more than words to the world around me.
It's time to put a difficult year behind me and follow my vision into action. Wish me luck : )
Wednesday, 11 December 2019
No "Merry" to be Found - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
No "Merry" to Be Found
Sun shines on snow -
around you mirth -
but now you know
no peace on earth.
When grief descends
as Christmas nears,
reach out to friends
who'll dry your tears.
Give loved ones part
of load you bear -
they know your heart;
you know they care.
Humanity
grants us a gift,
when we see pain
we want to lift.
Our love is oft'
all we can share -
let hearts be soft;
show that you care.
Shine love on those
whose smiles are lost
for love bestows
gifts beyond cost.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, December 11, 2019
My first difficult Christmas occurred when I was seventeen. My Grandmother Flood, who was like a third parent to me, died on November 18th of that year. Our Christmas Season was understandably subdued. My grandmother had suffered a stroke two weeks before her death, and I spent those weeks taking my turn at her bedside, gradually losing hope that she would ever come home again. It was harrowing experience for a girl my age who had never lost anyone close to her. I fell behind on assignments for school, and did badly on exams that semester. I hesitantly approached one teacher - and was grateful to receive concern, compassion, and the needed extension from her.
I had a good friend whose family had suffered an even more devastating loss that year - the death of a young and vibrant family member - and she helped me get through that "unmerry" Christmas. I knew she understood the loss I was feeling, and from my experience with her I learned the difference between sympathy and empathy. All of my friends were sad for me, but she was sad with me. She truly understood the gaping hole in my heart because she had one too.
Nineteen years later my father died of a heart attack on December 5th. My relationship with him had always been somewhat complicated, and my sorrow was also complicated - by feelings of guilt. Why had I wasted so much of my life fighting with him? Had he died really knowing that I loved him?
While attending his funeral, three hours away from where I was then living, I missed an appointment with the Principal and Vice Principal of my sons' public school. It had completely skipped my mind in my rush to get to my mother and siblings. I hastily apologized and rescheduled the meeting when I returned home. As I entered the room where they both awaited, beginning to apologize for rescheduling, and, as I was about to offer an explanation, they gave each other a conspiratorial glance, and the Vice Principal cut me off -
"It's okay, we understand", she sneered. "Everyone is so busy with their shopping at this time of year!"
My jaw fell open in astonishment at her assumption, and I quickly explained that I hadn't even begun my shopping yet because I had been too busy planning and attending my father's funeral.
An uncomfortable silence preceded their shamefaced apologies. We had our meeting, and through all of those uncomfortable minutes that followed I hoped they had both learned a lesson about jumping to conclusions.
At this time of year, it is easy to assume that the person who seems disorganized and misses a meeting or leaves an assignment unfinished has a case of the holiday frazzles. It's easy to believe that the grumpy person ahead of you in line at the check outs "has no Christmas spirit!" The neighbour who doesn't want to come to your Christmas event or party is "Bah Humbug"...
We all make snap assumptions at times when the truth is far more complicated, and infinitely sadder. Death doesn't wait for the holidays to end, neither does any other tragedy, accident or illness. Doctors don't wait until the new year to give the grim diagnosis, and depression doesn't magically disappear with the first Christmas carol. In fact, winter in cold climates brings its own special brand of depression and anxiety into the mix - Seasonal Affective Disorder leaves millions feeling depressed each winter, and accounts for about 10% of all depression cases. During the holidays, marriages still break down, kids still get in trouble, and financial strains hurt more than ever.
There are a whole lot of reasons for people to feel stressed, depressed and dismayed at this time of year, and before we accuse anyone around us of dropping a wet blanket on our cheerful festivities we need to dig a little deeper into understanding what they might be experiencing. We need to reach out to others, and to try to be the friend that others feel safe reaching out to.
In a season where we rush out to buy gifts for others, let's not overlook the gifts we can give that don't cost us a cent, but may cost us time, energy or restraint. We can be more patient with the ornery, more soothing and generous toward the disgruntled; more considerate toward those who face challenges we may not be fully aware of. But more than anything else, we can be kind, and try to demonstrate compassion, sympathy, empathy and love toward everyone we encounter.
Gifts of love and kindness not only keep giving - they foster "peace on earth and goodwill towards all". We are all made richer when we share the gifts of the heart.
Sun shines on snow -
around you mirth -
but now you know
no peace on earth.
When grief descends
as Christmas nears,
reach out to friends
who'll dry your tears.
Give loved ones part
of load you bear -
they know your heart;
you know they care.
Humanity
grants us a gift,
when we see pain
we want to lift.
Our love is oft'
all we can share -
let hearts be soft;
show that you care.
Shine love on those
whose smiles are lost
for love bestows
gifts beyond cost.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, December 11, 2019
My first difficult Christmas occurred when I was seventeen. My Grandmother Flood, who was like a third parent to me, died on November 18th of that year. Our Christmas Season was understandably subdued. My grandmother had suffered a stroke two weeks before her death, and I spent those weeks taking my turn at her bedside, gradually losing hope that she would ever come home again. It was harrowing experience for a girl my age who had never lost anyone close to her. I fell behind on assignments for school, and did badly on exams that semester. I hesitantly approached one teacher - and was grateful to receive concern, compassion, and the needed extension from her.
I had a good friend whose family had suffered an even more devastating loss that year - the death of a young and vibrant family member - and she helped me get through that "unmerry" Christmas. I knew she understood the loss I was feeling, and from my experience with her I learned the difference between sympathy and empathy. All of my friends were sad for me, but she was sad with me. She truly understood the gaping hole in my heart because she had one too.
Nineteen years later my father died of a heart attack on December 5th. My relationship with him had always been somewhat complicated, and my sorrow was also complicated - by feelings of guilt. Why had I wasted so much of my life fighting with him? Had he died really knowing that I loved him?
While attending his funeral, three hours away from where I was then living, I missed an appointment with the Principal and Vice Principal of my sons' public school. It had completely skipped my mind in my rush to get to my mother and siblings. I hastily apologized and rescheduled the meeting when I returned home. As I entered the room where they both awaited, beginning to apologize for rescheduling, and, as I was about to offer an explanation, they gave each other a conspiratorial glance, and the Vice Principal cut me off -
"It's okay, we understand", she sneered. "Everyone is so busy with their shopping at this time of year!"
My jaw fell open in astonishment at her assumption, and I quickly explained that I hadn't even begun my shopping yet because I had been too busy planning and attending my father's funeral.
An uncomfortable silence preceded their shamefaced apologies. We had our meeting, and through all of those uncomfortable minutes that followed I hoped they had both learned a lesson about jumping to conclusions.
At this time of year, it is easy to assume that the person who seems disorganized and misses a meeting or leaves an assignment unfinished has a case of the holiday frazzles. It's easy to believe that the grumpy person ahead of you in line at the check outs "has no Christmas spirit!" The neighbour who doesn't want to come to your Christmas event or party is "Bah Humbug"...
We all make snap assumptions at times when the truth is far more complicated, and infinitely sadder. Death doesn't wait for the holidays to end, neither does any other tragedy, accident or illness. Doctors don't wait until the new year to give the grim diagnosis, and depression doesn't magically disappear with the first Christmas carol. In fact, winter in cold climates brings its own special brand of depression and anxiety into the mix - Seasonal Affective Disorder leaves millions feeling depressed each winter, and accounts for about 10% of all depression cases. During the holidays, marriages still break down, kids still get in trouble, and financial strains hurt more than ever.
There are a whole lot of reasons for people to feel stressed, depressed and dismayed at this time of year, and before we accuse anyone around us of dropping a wet blanket on our cheerful festivities we need to dig a little deeper into understanding what they might be experiencing. We need to reach out to others, and to try to be the friend that others feel safe reaching out to.
In a season where we rush out to buy gifts for others, let's not overlook the gifts we can give that don't cost us a cent, but may cost us time, energy or restraint. We can be more patient with the ornery, more soothing and generous toward the disgruntled; more considerate toward those who face challenges we may not be fully aware of. But more than anything else, we can be kind, and try to demonstrate compassion, sympathy, empathy and love toward everyone we encounter.
Gifts of love and kindness not only keep giving - they foster "peace on earth and goodwill towards all". We are all made richer when we share the gifts of the heart.
Friday, 29 November 2019
Altered Expectations - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
I Dreamed - I Woke
I dreamed last night of sunshine bright,
and rain that stayed away -
my heart was light, I felt alright
and found some words to say.
I dreamed about a life without
much worry on my mind;
with no self doubt words would come out
and cares I'd leave behind.
I woke to know it wasn't so -
no epic would I pen -
that words might flow, but even so
they'd surely cease again.
I woke to feel something more real;
when expectations high -
crush under heel, I wish that zeal
could grant me wings to fly!
I woke today, and said, "No way -
it's just too much, too soon,
and it's okay, by light of day
to not expect the moon."
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 28, 2019
When I was younger I used to enjoy a television sketch on Mad TV called "Lowered Expectations". It was a spoof on "personal ads", which were the paper based forerunner of online dating sites. (Yeah - I know that's proof that I'm old!) Youthful and naive, I wondered why anyone would ever consider using a dating service that urged people to keep their expectations low - it seemed like such a preposterous idea at the time!
Now I get it.
We live in an era where we are always pushed to aim high - to be successful in every endeavor, and dating is no exception. Don't the unattached among us "deserve" to be with the hottest companions, just by virtue of putting a nicely edited photo up on a dating site? Then, (of course!) they will swipe on other carefully edited and staged - and perhaps outright ancient or "borrowed" - photos, and decide, based on looks and a few texting sessions, whether they have met "a match". Needless to say, pairings based on such shallow criteria might yield a good romp or two, but seldom have the same staying power as people who opt to dig a little deeper to find some common ground before declaring "couplehood."
Perhaps these "singletons" would be better off if they were willing to lower their expectations in the looks department, and raise them in other areas.
We are inundated with messages from that if we aren't constantly moving forward we must be lagging behind. There is no respect for the idea of a pause from time to time. "Just do something - anything - but don't you dare stand still! Keep your chin up, aim for the top spot, and don't question yourself!"
We are told that we should be good at everything - and if we aren't it's because we aren't trying hard enough.
We are surrounded by well meaning cheerleaders, who feed us a steady stream of catchy slogans telling us that we should always be upbeat and optimistic, because "Happiness is a choice."
We are urged to be productive all the time, and told that our achievements determine our success.
"Do, or do not" - said a well meaning Yoda to his young apprentice - "there is no try". Our lofty expectations were forged in the fire of good intentions. As much as Yoda was an admirable mentor, he seemed to miss the point that making and attempt - or"trying"- to accomplish something is forward movement in and of itself. Truthfully, we are all blissfully ignorant about what we need to do next a whole lot of the time, and I've concluded that my own failed attempts - my "tries" - often initiated a change of course that put me on the right path of "doing". There is no shame in trying - and perhaps failing. Where would all of the innovators be if they didn't take a stab at something new or "try" to do the same old thing in a brand new way?
I'll tell you where - nowhere. They'd be paralyzed by the fear of being a "trier", and not a "doer" like so many of us who were raised to think that making an attempt didn't count as legitimate effort. It's a whole lot easier to know what you ought to do when you've figured out - through trial and error - what isn't going to work.
The irony is that "trying" is both a hiss and a byword, and a club to beat us over the head with. We really are expected to be in a constant state of self improvement, home improvement, attitude improvement, intellectual improvement - you name it. The tools are all readily available to us online. What can't we learn from our vast menu of online improvement entrees? YouTube videos, Pinterest suggestions, Facebook news feed - they all serve up a feast for the soul who seeks betterment.
If you aren't improving, you really aren't "trying" hard enough.
If only life was as easy as all of the pop psychologists have told us it should be! The truth, as I see it, is that life is full of times when we should stop frantically pushing forward and pause to assess where we are. We don't need to produce endlessly, or to always be looking for ways to acquire more. Sometimes we can be satisfied with less, and there is no shame in choosing to simplify life and slow our constant quest for more and better things, more exciting experiences, and more acclaim from the masses - especially from online "followers" who may not have any idea how carefully constructed our Facebook facades may be.
We are not our online profiles. We are not our best photographs, poems, or most liked status updates. We can't measure our success by how many online "likes" we get on any given day. We are not our best stories, our medals or trophies, our pretty houses or gardens.
A few of our expectations need to change.
Every selfie posted on social media must conceal our flaws, and all of our family photos are meticulously staged. We post pictures of our culinary masterpieces but neglect to put up the pictures of the burnt offerings we feed our families. We proudly boast of our children's achievements, but forget to mention that they repeated fourth year twice to get those stellar grades, or that while "Johnny" was heading off to Harvard, "Jimmy" was doing a stint in reform school - or even "just" attending community college.
The expectations parents have placed on their children to all get a university education need to be altered. Every teenager isn't suited for university, and shouldn't be pushed in that direction in an era when tradesmen are desperately in need of apprentices. We need retail clerks, factory workers, farmers and firemen, and in a society where most households can only stay afloat on two incomes, both people might as well be doing something they can stand doing.
The idea that happiness is an expectation needs to be altered. We are allowed to feel discouraged sometimes, to feel uncertainty occasionally, and to not be eternally optimistic and full of giddy excitement and happiness. Our ancestors didn't go through life expecting everything to be "fun", or expecting to be perpetually happy. They worked long hard days and were thrilled when they had a rare opportunity to enjoy some form of simple, social entertainment. (As in honest to goodness face-to-face interaction with other hardworking folk.) They tried to get along with each other, regardless of who voted what way or went to which church. They were smart enough to understand that they might need each other someday, so they tried not to alienate their neighbours. They understood the value of genuine human connection.
When we send out the message that all should "choose to be happy", we disenfranchise the grieving, the physically suffering, the depressed, the mentally ill, and the impoverished. We tell them their pain doesn't matter, and that they should forge on without complaint. We spread this gospel of chronic, toxic optimism in the name of "being positive" but more often than not we simply don't want to acknowledge that there are those who simply have little to be happy about, or who are so deeply entrenched in one sort of misery or another that happiness seems like a far off goal, if in fact they can envision any degree of happiness at all.
The notion that some simply don't "choose" to be happy seems like a classic case of victim blaming.
How can we alter expectations that have grown to epic proportions - cut them down to a manageable size?
I have a few suggestions. (You knew I would, right?)
Slow down and enjoy the journey you are on without being constantly focused on some "destination". Don't be afraid to explore when you are faced with detours, or to stop and enjoy the scenery when there are roadblocks.
Forego Facebook for face-time. Remember - it is FACEbook, not Thoughtbook, Truthbook or Heartbook, and nobody can really get to know you by reading your posts, looking at your pictures or laughing at your memes. Re-engage with friends, family, nature, art, live music, board games, foolishness, adventure and occasionally boredom. Yeah - it's okay to be idle from time to time - to watch the clouds, to close your eyes and daydream.
Spend some time in solitude. Read books. Keep a journal. Meditate. Spend time alone with your thoughts. Spend time identifying and accepting your feelings - even the negative ones. Maybe even especially the negative ones. You are allowed to feel what you feel, and you can't be expected to "deal with" issues you are afraid to acknowledge. Feelings aren't bad, but when we push them down they push back, urging us to make rash decisions, to self-medicate, or to behave badly, injuring ourselves and those around us.
When we learn to alter our expectations - to lower some of them, and elevate others - we will accept ourselves, our neighbours, our lives, our problems and our opportunities in a more satisfying, unifying and healthy way.
I'm expecting my expectations to change. Are you?
I dreamed last night of sunshine bright,
and rain that stayed away -
my heart was light, I felt alright
and found some words to say.
I dreamed about a life without
much worry on my mind;
with no self doubt words would come out
and cares I'd leave behind.
I woke to know it wasn't so -
no epic would I pen -
that words might flow, but even so
they'd surely cease again.
I woke to feel something more real;
when expectations high -
crush under heel, I wish that zeal
could grant me wings to fly!
I woke today, and said, "No way -
it's just too much, too soon,
and it's okay, by light of day
to not expect the moon."
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, November 28, 2019
When I was younger I used to enjoy a television sketch on Mad TV called "Lowered Expectations". It was a spoof on "personal ads", which were the paper based forerunner of online dating sites. (Yeah - I know that's proof that I'm old!) Youthful and naive, I wondered why anyone would ever consider using a dating service that urged people to keep their expectations low - it seemed like such a preposterous idea at the time!
Now I get it.
We live in an era where we are always pushed to aim high - to be successful in every endeavor, and dating is no exception. Don't the unattached among us "deserve" to be with the hottest companions, just by virtue of putting a nicely edited photo up on a dating site? Then, (of course!) they will swipe on other carefully edited and staged - and perhaps outright ancient or "borrowed" - photos, and decide, based on looks and a few texting sessions, whether they have met "a match". Needless to say, pairings based on such shallow criteria might yield a good romp or two, but seldom have the same staying power as people who opt to dig a little deeper to find some common ground before declaring "couplehood."
Perhaps these "singletons" would be better off if they were willing to lower their expectations in the looks department, and raise them in other areas.
We are inundated with messages from that if we aren't constantly moving forward we must be lagging behind. There is no respect for the idea of a pause from time to time. "Just do something - anything - but don't you dare stand still! Keep your chin up, aim for the top spot, and don't question yourself!"
We are told that we should be good at everything - and if we aren't it's because we aren't trying hard enough.
We are surrounded by well meaning cheerleaders, who feed us a steady stream of catchy slogans telling us that we should always be upbeat and optimistic, because "Happiness is a choice."
We are urged to be productive all the time, and told that our achievements determine our success.
"Do, or do not" - said a well meaning Yoda to his young apprentice - "there is no try". Our lofty expectations were forged in the fire of good intentions. As much as Yoda was an admirable mentor, he seemed to miss the point that making and attempt - or"trying"- to accomplish something is forward movement in and of itself. Truthfully, we are all blissfully ignorant about what we need to do next a whole lot of the time, and I've concluded that my own failed attempts - my "tries" - often initiated a change of course that put me on the right path of "doing". There is no shame in trying - and perhaps failing. Where would all of the innovators be if they didn't take a stab at something new or "try" to do the same old thing in a brand new way?
I'll tell you where - nowhere. They'd be paralyzed by the fear of being a "trier", and not a "doer" like so many of us who were raised to think that making an attempt didn't count as legitimate effort. It's a whole lot easier to know what you ought to do when you've figured out - through trial and error - what isn't going to work.
The irony is that "trying" is both a hiss and a byword, and a club to beat us over the head with. We really are expected to be in a constant state of self improvement, home improvement, attitude improvement, intellectual improvement - you name it. The tools are all readily available to us online. What can't we learn from our vast menu of online improvement entrees? YouTube videos, Pinterest suggestions, Facebook news feed - they all serve up a feast for the soul who seeks betterment.
If you aren't improving, you really aren't "trying" hard enough.
If only life was as easy as all of the pop psychologists have told us it should be! The truth, as I see it, is that life is full of times when we should stop frantically pushing forward and pause to assess where we are. We don't need to produce endlessly, or to always be looking for ways to acquire more. Sometimes we can be satisfied with less, and there is no shame in choosing to simplify life and slow our constant quest for more and better things, more exciting experiences, and more acclaim from the masses - especially from online "followers" who may not have any idea how carefully constructed our Facebook facades may be.
We are not our online profiles. We are not our best photographs, poems, or most liked status updates. We can't measure our success by how many online "likes" we get on any given day. We are not our best stories, our medals or trophies, our pretty houses or gardens.
A few of our expectations need to change.
Every selfie posted on social media must conceal our flaws, and all of our family photos are meticulously staged. We post pictures of our culinary masterpieces but neglect to put up the pictures of the burnt offerings we feed our families. We proudly boast of our children's achievements, but forget to mention that they repeated fourth year twice to get those stellar grades, or that while "Johnny" was heading off to Harvard, "Jimmy" was doing a stint in reform school - or even "just" attending community college.
The expectations parents have placed on their children to all get a university education need to be altered. Every teenager isn't suited for university, and shouldn't be pushed in that direction in an era when tradesmen are desperately in need of apprentices. We need retail clerks, factory workers, farmers and firemen, and in a society where most households can only stay afloat on two incomes, both people might as well be doing something they can stand doing.
The idea that happiness is an expectation needs to be altered. We are allowed to feel discouraged sometimes, to feel uncertainty occasionally, and to not be eternally optimistic and full of giddy excitement and happiness. Our ancestors didn't go through life expecting everything to be "fun", or expecting to be perpetually happy. They worked long hard days and were thrilled when they had a rare opportunity to enjoy some form of simple, social entertainment. (As in honest to goodness face-to-face interaction with other hardworking folk.) They tried to get along with each other, regardless of who voted what way or went to which church. They were smart enough to understand that they might need each other someday, so they tried not to alienate their neighbours. They understood the value of genuine human connection.
When we send out the message that all should "choose to be happy", we disenfranchise the grieving, the physically suffering, the depressed, the mentally ill, and the impoverished. We tell them their pain doesn't matter, and that they should forge on without complaint. We spread this gospel of chronic, toxic optimism in the name of "being positive" but more often than not we simply don't want to acknowledge that there are those who simply have little to be happy about, or who are so deeply entrenched in one sort of misery or another that happiness seems like a far off goal, if in fact they can envision any degree of happiness at all.
The notion that some simply don't "choose" to be happy seems like a classic case of victim blaming.
How can we alter expectations that have grown to epic proportions - cut them down to a manageable size?
I have a few suggestions. (You knew I would, right?)
Slow down and enjoy the journey you are on without being constantly focused on some "destination". Don't be afraid to explore when you are faced with detours, or to stop and enjoy the scenery when there are roadblocks.
Forego Facebook for face-time. Remember - it is FACEbook, not Thoughtbook, Truthbook or Heartbook, and nobody can really get to know you by reading your posts, looking at your pictures or laughing at your memes. Re-engage with friends, family, nature, art, live music, board games, foolishness, adventure and occasionally boredom. Yeah - it's okay to be idle from time to time - to watch the clouds, to close your eyes and daydream.
Spend some time in solitude. Read books. Keep a journal. Meditate. Spend time alone with your thoughts. Spend time identifying and accepting your feelings - even the negative ones. Maybe even especially the negative ones. You are allowed to feel what you feel, and you can't be expected to "deal with" issues you are afraid to acknowledge. Feelings aren't bad, but when we push them down they push back, urging us to make rash decisions, to self-medicate, or to behave badly, injuring ourselves and those around us.
When we learn to alter our expectations - to lower some of them, and elevate others - we will accept ourselves, our neighbours, our lives, our problems and our opportunities in a more satisfying, unifying and healthy way.
I'm expecting my expectations to change. Are you?
Tuesday, 8 October 2019
In the Shadows - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Shadowland
Into the shadowlands I strayed -
where hope does not exist -
where into gray bright colours fade
and all joy is dismissed.
Its borders unmarked, unguarded -
crossed ere I was aware,
and optimism departed
to leave me in despair.
Departing this engulfing gloom
is not an easy chore;
all obstacles appear to loom
more threat'ning than before.
It takes a lot of time to heal
from damage to the soul
that starts when you begin to feel
the shadows take control.
There is a darkened, shady place
that lurks in many hearts
not oft' discerned behind a face
unchanged while hope departs.
Depression fills the soul with shame
until you understand
that only hope's transcendent flame
can light the Shadowland.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, August 2006
Hope is waning.
This is the only conclusion I can come to when I question the collective misery that seems to be spreading across the face of the planet. You can accuse me of being melodramatic if you wish, and you can tell me you feel fine about the state of the world - that's your prerogative. I simply don't feel the same, and I think I speak for a whole lot of people when I say that.
The way I see it, most of the world seems to be dysthymic at best, and rapidly headed into severe depression. We know things aren't right, and some of us have begun trying to figure out what things are amiss. Others seem unhappy, but place blame everywhere but where it belongs.
Conspiracy theories abound, and denial of real issues runs rampant.
It's hard to see clearly when you keep to the shadows, and indeed it would appear that some might prefer to live in the dark, while the rest of us scramble for candles and flashlights - anything that might shed a little light - and help us find our way out of the shadows.
The world wasn't always so dark and gloomy. It has historically gone through periods of more, and less, illumination. They didn't call one era "the Dark Ages" for nothing. Oh, I know that how dark those days were depends on what aspects of that time period - and what segments of society - you're considering, but there are some undeniably "dark" facts that greatly contributed to why those times were thus labeled.
It appears that as the Roman Empire began to collapse, those the Romans had conquered, or attempted to conquer, became increasingly determined to stomp out anything perceived as "Roman", and this included scientific advances, medical advances and the development of a legal system. The Feudal system came into full swing. Peasants did all the hard labour and saw few rewards while they were taxed at the whim of any neighbouring "Lord" who decided to invade the area. The serfs ate a very scarce diet that was nutrient poor, and drank filthy water. Most had a life expectancy of about thirty, and lived their short lives without any hope of acquiring education, or improving their lot in life in any significant way. Life for the poor was short, dismal and dangerous.
Lets talk about "hope" for a minute. As a concept, it gets a lot of bad press these days. Too often "hope" is equated with a kind of toxic optimism that can leave us all feeling worse. The message that we always need to "be positive" adds a layer of guilt to our despair - one more burden that most of us would prefer to avoid. "Hope" seems like a cheery way to turn a mountain of complicated issues into an irritating molehill that can be leveled with the back of a shovel.
I'm trying hard not to waste my own energy on capital H Hope, and instead look for a few small glimmers of positivity in a world that seems to reward negativity in all of its varied forms. In a world where Google serves us up "facts" to support our every cockamamie theory, I hope I've gained enough humility to embrace my ignorance and accept that I don't have all of the answers even part of the time. In a society where most seem to care more about looking connected than fostering genuine connections with humanity, I hope I can be brave enough to reach out to others in meaningful ways. On social media, where arguments grow increasingly anti-social and civility is scarce, I hope to be able to engage politely.
Small h hope is built when we are willing to make any small change to improve the world around us. One day, when I was feeling quite down I had a video chat with a friend, who proclaimed that I looked "fancy". When you feel dysthymic, hope comes in small packages. It might look like taking a shower and putting on a dab of make-up, even if you aren't leaving the house. It might be demonstrated by leaving the safety of your cocoon and taking a stroll - maybe even planting a smile on your face and waving at a neighbour. It might be something as small as leaving a message online, or making a telephone call to a friend.
Hope might come in small packages, but I've learned that it's hard to carry alone. When we feel stuck in the shadows we need people around us. We need friendships to sustain us, people we trust to tell us to keep moving when every step forward seems to be in slow motion. We need outlets for our unruly emotions and anxieties. We need ears to hear our complaints, and help us transform our endless carping into some kind of action. We need the empathy of peers, and the encouragement of a supportive network. We need community.
For subsistence farmers in the Dark Ages, any degree of hope was pretty well non-existent.
More recent periods in history have given rise to a predominant "middle class", and with that rise, to opportunities that favour more than just the wealthiest among us. Over the past century we've seen incredible advances in science, technology and industry. We've seen women get the right to vote, human rights activism, less bigotry, increased availability of medicine, better sanitation, better education, and more awareness of the plights suffered by the less fortunate.
We've seen enough advancement and enlightenment to give most of us cause to hope that the world was headed in a positive direction.
Many of us wonder how it all got so bad, so fast. Were we not vigilant enough? Did we grow accustomed - maybe even entitled - to the privileges we enjoy?
Sadly, ignorance and greed can halt a lot of advancement fairly quickly, even when it comes from a vocal minority screaming its denial of what most of us view as positive progress.
"Send the immigrants home!"
"I don't mind people of other races, but I don't want them in my neighbourhood..."
"Kids today are so spoiled. They deserve to be poor."
"Low income housing? Who needs it? I'm just happy I can make a killing on my house when I decide to sell!"
"Climate change? Ha, what a joke!"
"Women will let you do anything when you're rich...grab 'em...kiss 'em..."
Does any of this sound familiar?
Dictators take charge and influence the hard-hearted. If the economy seems good, their efforts are praised by those who think any penny they can save on their tax bill is more important than helping the poor, the environment or the mentally ill. The Rain Forests burn while modern day Neros fiddle. Immigrant children fill cages while the First Lady visits their compounds in a jacket emblazoned with the words, "I don't really care." What baffles me is the fact that whole groups of modern day society see no problem with any of this.
Some of us grow increasingly disheartened - hopeless at times. We thought things were looking up! We thought we had seen some proof that most people could see beyond their own noses and actually wanted a world with less economic disparity, more respect for the rights of humanity, more equality between the sexes and well... more kindness and tolerance toward all people. Not just the ones on our pay scale, or the ones who look most like us.
As someone who has battled a little dysthymia over the years, I have come to this conclusion. The flat zones - the shadows - of our emotional and mental state aren't fun. Many might go for months or years with very little variation from a baseline of "Meh". However, the darkest shades of misery often occur when one begins to see a little progress. We fall a bit harder once we've climbed a bit higher. The sad days are more challenging when we've spent some time smiling again.
If we're brave enough to climb, we need to use the buddy system....
The Climb
Making good time, close to the top
onward we climb, then - briefly stop.
Quick glance below shows progress made,
so, on we go, though steep the grade.
No guarantee that we won't fall -
what we can't see can trip us all.
If we should slide from near the top
we can't decide how hard we'll drop.
Thus we accept, when we depart,
we'll be adept - climbing's an art.
There's risk we'll fall with ev'ry climb;
consider all factors each time -
each path we choose, what's in our pack,
where time we'll lose; who has our back.
Climb with a friend, carry some rope -
hand them the end and there is hope
that if you trip close to the top
the rope they grip controls the drop.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, October 8, 2019
Where there are climbs, there will inevitably be falls. How much they hurt us depends on how much resilience we've built, and most of us need a bit of support if we're going to head uphill again.
Just as a fall from six steps up tends to hurt us more than a stumble on the first or second step, it is harder for us to see in the dark when we've spent some time in the sun. Our eyes search the unaccustomed shadows for a tiny glint of hope to navigate by. Our bones cries out for some sunshine, and our brains program us to feel fear and anxiety over what might be waiting to trip us up.
We are frightened and exhausted; tired of hunting for light sources in a world that seems intent on cutting the cord to every lamp we turn on.
We are confused and disheartened by those who prefer to live in the dark.
We need hope the same way a junkie craves the next fix. It is the only thing that can light up a world full of shadows.
Take my hand and we'll feel our way out of the abyss. Chances of finding that small, elusive bundle of hope are increased when we work together.
Into the shadowlands I strayed -
where hope does not exist -
where into gray bright colours fade
and all joy is dismissed.
Its borders unmarked, unguarded -
crossed ere I was aware,
and optimism departed
to leave me in despair.
Departing this engulfing gloom
is not an easy chore;
all obstacles appear to loom
more threat'ning than before.
It takes a lot of time to heal
from damage to the soul
that starts when you begin to feel
the shadows take control.
There is a darkened, shady place
that lurks in many hearts
not oft' discerned behind a face
unchanged while hope departs.
Depression fills the soul with shame
until you understand
that only hope's transcendent flame
can light the Shadowland.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, August 2006
Hope is waning.
This is the only conclusion I can come to when I question the collective misery that seems to be spreading across the face of the planet. You can accuse me of being melodramatic if you wish, and you can tell me you feel fine about the state of the world - that's your prerogative. I simply don't feel the same, and I think I speak for a whole lot of people when I say that.
The way I see it, most of the world seems to be dysthymic at best, and rapidly headed into severe depression. We know things aren't right, and some of us have begun trying to figure out what things are amiss. Others seem unhappy, but place blame everywhere but where it belongs.
Conspiracy theories abound, and denial of real issues runs rampant.
It's hard to see clearly when you keep to the shadows, and indeed it would appear that some might prefer to live in the dark, while the rest of us scramble for candles and flashlights - anything that might shed a little light - and help us find our way out of the shadows.
The world wasn't always so dark and gloomy. It has historically gone through periods of more, and less, illumination. They didn't call one era "the Dark Ages" for nothing. Oh, I know that how dark those days were depends on what aspects of that time period - and what segments of society - you're considering, but there are some undeniably "dark" facts that greatly contributed to why those times were thus labeled.
It appears that as the Roman Empire began to collapse, those the Romans had conquered, or attempted to conquer, became increasingly determined to stomp out anything perceived as "Roman", and this included scientific advances, medical advances and the development of a legal system. The Feudal system came into full swing. Peasants did all the hard labour and saw few rewards while they were taxed at the whim of any neighbouring "Lord" who decided to invade the area. The serfs ate a very scarce diet that was nutrient poor, and drank filthy water. Most had a life expectancy of about thirty, and lived their short lives without any hope of acquiring education, or improving their lot in life in any significant way. Life for the poor was short, dismal and dangerous.
Lets talk about "hope" for a minute. As a concept, it gets a lot of bad press these days. Too often "hope" is equated with a kind of toxic optimism that can leave us all feeling worse. The message that we always need to "be positive" adds a layer of guilt to our despair - one more burden that most of us would prefer to avoid. "Hope" seems like a cheery way to turn a mountain of complicated issues into an irritating molehill that can be leveled with the back of a shovel.
I'm trying hard not to waste my own energy on capital H Hope, and instead look for a few small glimmers of positivity in a world that seems to reward negativity in all of its varied forms. In a world where Google serves us up "facts" to support our every cockamamie theory, I hope I've gained enough humility to embrace my ignorance and accept that I don't have all of the answers even part of the time. In a society where most seem to care more about looking connected than fostering genuine connections with humanity, I hope I can be brave enough to reach out to others in meaningful ways. On social media, where arguments grow increasingly anti-social and civility is scarce, I hope to be able to engage politely.
Small h hope is built when we are willing to make any small change to improve the world around us. One day, when I was feeling quite down I had a video chat with a friend, who proclaimed that I looked "fancy". When you feel dysthymic, hope comes in small packages. It might look like taking a shower and putting on a dab of make-up, even if you aren't leaving the house. It might be demonstrated by leaving the safety of your cocoon and taking a stroll - maybe even planting a smile on your face and waving at a neighbour. It might be something as small as leaving a message online, or making a telephone call to a friend.
Hope might come in small packages, but I've learned that it's hard to carry alone. When we feel stuck in the shadows we need people around us. We need friendships to sustain us, people we trust to tell us to keep moving when every step forward seems to be in slow motion. We need outlets for our unruly emotions and anxieties. We need ears to hear our complaints, and help us transform our endless carping into some kind of action. We need the empathy of peers, and the encouragement of a supportive network. We need community.
For subsistence farmers in the Dark Ages, any degree of hope was pretty well non-existent.
More recent periods in history have given rise to a predominant "middle class", and with that rise, to opportunities that favour more than just the wealthiest among us. Over the past century we've seen incredible advances in science, technology and industry. We've seen women get the right to vote, human rights activism, less bigotry, increased availability of medicine, better sanitation, better education, and more awareness of the plights suffered by the less fortunate.
We've seen enough advancement and enlightenment to give most of us cause to hope that the world was headed in a positive direction.
Many of us wonder how it all got so bad, so fast. Were we not vigilant enough? Did we grow accustomed - maybe even entitled - to the privileges we enjoy?
Sadly, ignorance and greed can halt a lot of advancement fairly quickly, even when it comes from a vocal minority screaming its denial of what most of us view as positive progress.
"Send the immigrants home!"
"I don't mind people of other races, but I don't want them in my neighbourhood..."
"Kids today are so spoiled. They deserve to be poor."
"Low income housing? Who needs it? I'm just happy I can make a killing on my house when I decide to sell!"
"Climate change? Ha, what a joke!"
"Women will let you do anything when you're rich...grab 'em...kiss 'em..."
Does any of this sound familiar?
Dictators take charge and influence the hard-hearted. If the economy seems good, their efforts are praised by those who think any penny they can save on their tax bill is more important than helping the poor, the environment or the mentally ill. The Rain Forests burn while modern day Neros fiddle. Immigrant children fill cages while the First Lady visits their compounds in a jacket emblazoned with the words, "I don't really care." What baffles me is the fact that whole groups of modern day society see no problem with any of this.
Some of us grow increasingly disheartened - hopeless at times. We thought things were looking up! We thought we had seen some proof that most people could see beyond their own noses and actually wanted a world with less economic disparity, more respect for the rights of humanity, more equality between the sexes and well... more kindness and tolerance toward all people. Not just the ones on our pay scale, or the ones who look most like us.
As someone who has battled a little dysthymia over the years, I have come to this conclusion. The flat zones - the shadows - of our emotional and mental state aren't fun. Many might go for months or years with very little variation from a baseline of "Meh". However, the darkest shades of misery often occur when one begins to see a little progress. We fall a bit harder once we've climbed a bit higher. The sad days are more challenging when we've spent some time smiling again.
If we're brave enough to climb, we need to use the buddy system....
The Climb
Making good time, close to the top
onward we climb, then - briefly stop.
Quick glance below shows progress made,
so, on we go, though steep the grade.
No guarantee that we won't fall -
what we can't see can trip us all.
If we should slide from near the top
we can't decide how hard we'll drop.
Thus we accept, when we depart,
we'll be adept - climbing's an art.
There's risk we'll fall with ev'ry climb;
consider all factors each time -
each path we choose, what's in our pack,
where time we'll lose; who has our back.
Climb with a friend, carry some rope -
hand them the end and there is hope
that if you trip close to the top
the rope they grip controls the drop.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, October 8, 2019
Where there are climbs, there will inevitably be falls. How much they hurt us depends on how much resilience we've built, and most of us need a bit of support if we're going to head uphill again.
Just as a fall from six steps up tends to hurt us more than a stumble on the first or second step, it is harder for us to see in the dark when we've spent some time in the sun. Our eyes search the unaccustomed shadows for a tiny glint of hope to navigate by. Our bones cries out for some sunshine, and our brains program us to feel fear and anxiety over what might be waiting to trip us up.
We are frightened and exhausted; tired of hunting for light sources in a world that seems intent on cutting the cord to every lamp we turn on.
We are confused and disheartened by those who prefer to live in the dark.
We need hope the same way a junkie craves the next fix. It is the only thing that can light up a world full of shadows.
Take my hand and we'll feel our way out of the abyss. Chances of finding that small, elusive bundle of hope are increased when we work together.
Friday, 13 September 2019
Not Fashion, but Passion to Make the Heart Sing - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Divine Connection
Give me art from your heart,
that's what you need to bring -
not fashion, but passion,
to make my heart sing.
To my ear, loud and clear,
play the notes; sing or hum.
With your soul take control
of guitar that you strum.
Be astute with your flute -
make me shiver and swoon;
grab charcoal - set a goal -
try to capture the moon.
Lose control, bare your soul
on a canvas in oil;
set a mood - attitude -
with the words you uncoil.
Line by line with divine
gifts of art find a way
to create - generate -
a connection today.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Sept 6, 2019
Sometimes, when my mind seems to be processing everything in an endless loop, I ask friends to suggest poetry topics to me.
"Write a poem on the banalization of art", one suggested recently.
When I asked for a bit of clarification, he talked about how art has become "something secondary - like music in the background", and suggested I could tackle the difference between what is really art and what sells commercially as art.
It seemed like a difficult topic for a poem, and indeed I have yet to write one that covers all of those points. As an exercise in moving my thoughts out of the groove they were relentlessly carving through the granite in my soul, my question was a success. For the past week, I have wandered around wondering why society has become drawn to those things that "sell" versus taking the time to search out originality in all types of art, and why it is that we so often relegate art to the background of our lives.
The first thought that inspired a poem is that what is most often missing - in both artistic creation, and artistic appreciation - is passion.
Technological advances have created a climate where we are all impatient. We want everything immediately, and we will often compromise quality to produce, or to acquire, something now. Art is often just another mass-produced commodity - something we buy at a big box store to cover an empty spot on the wall, and "tie the decor scheme together". Do we feel passionately about the print we bought from the sale rack at Home Sense? Probably not, but if it seems "tasteful enough", looks nice against our wall colour, and makes our new throw cushions "pop", we will probably consider it a good buy.
The thrifty among us may take our frugality a step further and attend a painting class, or merely comb through Pinterest boards to learn how to turn our leftover latex, or newly acquired acrylics, into home grown "art". Sadly, few of us will let any originality, let alone passion, emerge onto our newly purchased pristine white canvasses, and will instead opt to carefully follow instructions to copy a project that a whole lot of other people have already done to death.
I don't mean to sound overly critical. My house boasts its share of mass produced art, and I too once painted a stenciled sign for my front entrance. Social media platforms like Pinterest can teach us "how to", but most of us are afraid to take the instruction we receive in a fresh direction, and instead opt for the safe route. Our decor may not be unique, but keeping things homogeneous will save us from the would be critics who might not like what we would produce if we unleashed our originality and went crazy, right?
Most of us don't take the time to visit a lot of art galleries, museums and exhibits to learn about art. We don't study classic literature or poetry. We don't listen to symphonies, or attend concerts, where we hear a broad range of musical instruments played by musicians who practiced playing for thousands of hours before they ever took to the stage.
I'm a fine one to talk - for years I barely listened to any music at home, and settled for the radio or whatever disc my husband put in when we were in the car. I sometimes listened to music online, but my selections had become pretty predictable.
In April I got an iPad, and suddenly began receiving daily YouTube recommendations. At first, most of them were instructional videos on how to play the guitar. (I later found out that the magical Google type powers in cyberspace thought I was a fledgling guitar player, thanks to the fact that one of our former international students used to watch instructional guitar videos on my computer.) Well, curious soul that I am, I watched some of those videos and discovered a fondness for classical guitar, and thanks to some shares from friends I now get a wide variety of recommendations daily - some classical, some rock, some Bossa Nova, some folk...and I listen to them all. I'm discovering all kinds of music that I never considered before, and it has been a wonderful adventure.
I've discovered that a little soft music in the background is soothing, but that I am happiest when I take some time each day to "just listen" - to immerse myself in whatever genre of music fits the mood I'm in that day. I don't care if the featured artist was ever a commercial success. I don't search online to find out how many albums or discs they sold. I simply listen and enjoy.
As a poet who writes almost exclusively in metered rhyme, I am painfully aware of the fact that my chosen genre isn't wildly popular at the moment. I once had a well meaning friend tell me I should consider writing cards for Hallmark, and while I knew it was intended as a compliment, I felt more unappreciated and misunderstood than ever. It is hard to be a creator when you feel that what you produce isn't "popular", and I understand why a lot of artists - painters, photographers, musicians, writers and poets, give up on creating with passion and settle for giving people what they're willing to buy.
It is easy to understand how artists and art appreciators - or art acquirers - might learn to compromise what they would prefer to create - or what they would like to buy, listen to, or read - in favour of what meets the current standards of popular or trendy. At times, we're all a little afraid to move out of the narrow, fashionable comfort zone and wait for that empty space - on the wall, or in our art-starved souls - to be filled by something that unexpectedly, and inexplicably, makes our hearts sing. It can be a long wait to find music that will strike the perfect chord, or read lines that make us want to shout "Hallelujah, Amen!"
It takes courage to wear your heart on your sleeve, and patience and persistence to keep it there long enough to generate a connection between creator, creation and consumer.
I understand that there will always be a place for background music and art that matches the couch. Still, I think we can't afford to let go of our creative adventurousness altogether. Our souls cry out for a little awe, and occasionally we need to look beyond our old stand-bys and favourites; to listen to an unusual YouTube recommendation or ask our friends what they have been listening to. We need to stroll through a local "Art in the Park" and see some original creations - and maybe support one of those artists by purchasing something "one of a kind". We need to visit a library and search out something that isn't on Oprah's Book Club list or isn't a New York Times bestseller.
We might even need to consider reading a post or two written by a crazy blogger/poet who insists on writing in rhyme.
Only through exploration will we find creative expression that gives us a taste of divine wonder.
Give me art from your heart,
that's what you need to bring -
not fashion, but passion,
to make my heart sing.
To my ear, loud and clear,
play the notes; sing or hum.
With your soul take control
of guitar that you strum.
Be astute with your flute -
make me shiver and swoon;
grab charcoal - set a goal -
try to capture the moon.
Lose control, bare your soul
on a canvas in oil;
set a mood - attitude -
with the words you uncoil.
Line by line with divine
gifts of art find a way
to create - generate -
a connection today.
By Sharon Flood Kasenberg, Sept 6, 2019
Sometimes, when my mind seems to be processing everything in an endless loop, I ask friends to suggest poetry topics to me.
"Write a poem on the banalization of art", one suggested recently.
When I asked for a bit of clarification, he talked about how art has become "something secondary - like music in the background", and suggested I could tackle the difference between what is really art and what sells commercially as art.
It seemed like a difficult topic for a poem, and indeed I have yet to write one that covers all of those points. As an exercise in moving my thoughts out of the groove they were relentlessly carving through the granite in my soul, my question was a success. For the past week, I have wandered around wondering why society has become drawn to those things that "sell" versus taking the time to search out originality in all types of art, and why it is that we so often relegate art to the background of our lives.
The first thought that inspired a poem is that what is most often missing - in both artistic creation, and artistic appreciation - is passion.
Technological advances have created a climate where we are all impatient. We want everything immediately, and we will often compromise quality to produce, or to acquire, something now. Art is often just another mass-produced commodity - something we buy at a big box store to cover an empty spot on the wall, and "tie the decor scheme together". Do we feel passionately about the print we bought from the sale rack at Home Sense? Probably not, but if it seems "tasteful enough", looks nice against our wall colour, and makes our new throw cushions "pop", we will probably consider it a good buy.
The thrifty among us may take our frugality a step further and attend a painting class, or merely comb through Pinterest boards to learn how to turn our leftover latex, or newly acquired acrylics, into home grown "art". Sadly, few of us will let any originality, let alone passion, emerge onto our newly purchased pristine white canvasses, and will instead opt to carefully follow instructions to copy a project that a whole lot of other people have already done to death.
I don't mean to sound overly critical. My house boasts its share of mass produced art, and I too once painted a stenciled sign for my front entrance. Social media platforms like Pinterest can teach us "how to", but most of us are afraid to take the instruction we receive in a fresh direction, and instead opt for the safe route. Our decor may not be unique, but keeping things homogeneous will save us from the would be critics who might not like what we would produce if we unleashed our originality and went crazy, right?
Most of us don't take the time to visit a lot of art galleries, museums and exhibits to learn about art. We don't study classic literature or poetry. We don't listen to symphonies, or attend concerts, where we hear a broad range of musical instruments played by musicians who practiced playing for thousands of hours before they ever took to the stage.
I'm a fine one to talk - for years I barely listened to any music at home, and settled for the radio or whatever disc my husband put in when we were in the car. I sometimes listened to music online, but my selections had become pretty predictable.
In April I got an iPad, and suddenly began receiving daily YouTube recommendations. At first, most of them were instructional videos on how to play the guitar. (I later found out that the magical Google type powers in cyberspace thought I was a fledgling guitar player, thanks to the fact that one of our former international students used to watch instructional guitar videos on my computer.) Well, curious soul that I am, I watched some of those videos and discovered a fondness for classical guitar, and thanks to some shares from friends I now get a wide variety of recommendations daily - some classical, some rock, some Bossa Nova, some folk...and I listen to them all. I'm discovering all kinds of music that I never considered before, and it has been a wonderful adventure.
I've discovered that a little soft music in the background is soothing, but that I am happiest when I take some time each day to "just listen" - to immerse myself in whatever genre of music fits the mood I'm in that day. I don't care if the featured artist was ever a commercial success. I don't search online to find out how many albums or discs they sold. I simply listen and enjoy.
As a poet who writes almost exclusively in metered rhyme, I am painfully aware of the fact that my chosen genre isn't wildly popular at the moment. I once had a well meaning friend tell me I should consider writing cards for Hallmark, and while I knew it was intended as a compliment, I felt more unappreciated and misunderstood than ever. It is hard to be a creator when you feel that what you produce isn't "popular", and I understand why a lot of artists - painters, photographers, musicians, writers and poets, give up on creating with passion and settle for giving people what they're willing to buy.
It is easy to understand how artists and art appreciators - or art acquirers - might learn to compromise what they would prefer to create - or what they would like to buy, listen to, or read - in favour of what meets the current standards of popular or trendy. At times, we're all a little afraid to move out of the narrow, fashionable comfort zone and wait for that empty space - on the wall, or in our art-starved souls - to be filled by something that unexpectedly, and inexplicably, makes our hearts sing. It can be a long wait to find music that will strike the perfect chord, or read lines that make us want to shout "Hallelujah, Amen!"
It takes courage to wear your heart on your sleeve, and patience and persistence to keep it there long enough to generate a connection between creator, creation and consumer.
I understand that there will always be a place for background music and art that matches the couch. Still, I think we can't afford to let go of our creative adventurousness altogether. Our souls cry out for a little awe, and occasionally we need to look beyond our old stand-bys and favourites; to listen to an unusual YouTube recommendation or ask our friends what they have been listening to. We need to stroll through a local "Art in the Park" and see some original creations - and maybe support one of those artists by purchasing something "one of a kind". We need to visit a library and search out something that isn't on Oprah's Book Club list or isn't a New York Times bestseller.
We might even need to consider reading a post or two written by a crazy blogger/poet who insists on writing in rhyme.
Only through exploration will we find creative expression that gives us a taste of divine wonder.
Friday, 16 August 2019
One Goofball Analyzes Humour - By Sharon Flood Kasenberg
Goofball
Let there not be any doubt -
proudly I proclaim -
inner goofball will come out,
and I feel no shame.
Case is clear - open and shut -
witnesses avow,
it's a fact that I'm a nut,
please don't save me now!
Let me be a happy fool,
sharing the inane,
not afraid to be uncool;
risking your disdain.
No desire to be aloof
holds my imp at bay.
I was born to be a goof -
I think that's okay.
I don't want to stress about
how I am perceived,
thus I'll let my goofball out -
sorry if you're grieved.
Humour is a saving grace -
when my days are done
may you all say I embraced
the art of having fun.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, (Undated: found in the unfinished files)
"I don't trust anyone who doesn't laugh"
- Maya Angelou
For several days I've been mulling over a subject for another blog post. I read over the bits and pieces of unfinished jottings I keep on file, and even finished a few verses, but nothing hit the spot...until this morning when I rolled out of bed and wrote a lengthy and rather impressive ode to underwear in fifteen minutes flat! That's when I remembered the poem I start this post with, and suddenly my topic was clear...
Sometimes I actually do a bit of slapdash "research" before I write a blog post. I might google a few points or go on Wikipedia. I might even spend a few hours chasing down articles and reading them.
This time you are just getting my thoughts, and a few quotes. Why, you ask? Welllll...I tried typing "things that are universally funny" into my search engine, and most of what came up didn't strike me as all that amusing.
"Comedy is the art of making people laugh without making them puke"
-Steve Martin
Here, for example, is a list of the top ten things that make Americans laugh:
1) Things our kids say. Okay. This one I agree with. My husband and I still laugh about the time our older son, at about age three, walked into a room full of our assembled guests and solemnly asked, "Are Mom and Dad going to put the boys to bed early tonight and have sex?"
Decades later he still amuses. Yesterday he walked into the room where his father was working.
"Huh -" he said. "I didn't think you were home. I didn't hear you Skyping, farting or cursing!"
2) Sitcoms. This one is harder, because it really depends on which sitcoms you're talking about. Some make me laugh, some...not so much.
3) Memes and Animal Videos. Hmmmm...tough sell. Some memes are pretty funny, but generally I think that memes are overused. Double ditto for animal videos. I could happily live without ever seeing another dancing pet, but to each their own. I laugh at about one meme or animal video in ten. Maybe I'm just too fussy?
4) Reality TV. What? Really??? I can think of few things less likely to make me laugh than the ridiculously "unscripted" world of "reality" programs out there. Just NO.
5) Dad jokes. Why is Dad regarded as funnier than Mom? I asked my husband this question, and he looked at me in disbelief.
"Dads are men," he deadpanned. "And men just naturally do more stupid things than women."
Touche.
6) Knock knock jokes. Yup, they were hilarious when I was six.
7) People mispronouncing words. Here's my take on this one: If a person is a humble sort who makes an honest mistake when pronouncing a word, it is unkind to laugh. However, if the person in question is say...Donald Trump - then go ahead and guff it up! Covfefe!
8) Bad photos of people. My rule: If the person in the picture posted it acknowledging it as a funny photo, giggle all you want. If the photo was posted by someone else, with consent, giggle. If the photo was posted without consent, it was probably posted with the intent to humiliate the person depicted, which is mean, not funny.
9) Puns. Clever wordplay always gets two thumbs up!
10) Watching someone trip and fall. Exercise caution before laughing. Most of us know that it looks funny when we trip, but... Therefore, if the person stands up quickly, laughing heartily, feel free to join in, but there's nothing more unfunny than being caught laughing at a person who is thoroughly embarrassed and perhaps hurt.
The only conclusions I came to from this bit of "research" is that humour is extremely subjective, and that maybe my sense of humour is more sophisticated than I thought, in spite of how amused I can be by the subject of underwear.
"Imagination was given to man to compensate for what he is not; a sense of humour to console him for what he is."
- Francis Bacon
Not to mention what the world is, Francis!
I think laughing is important. Most of us don't do enough of it. Even when I'm feeling quite blue, I can generally manage at least a token snicker once or twice a day, because really - life is pretty ridiculous a whole lot of the time - and even though it often seems like there isn't much to laugh about, the inanities of life tend to collide with my funny bone and temporarily knock me out of the misery zone. I'm grateful for this ability to see a bit of nonsense in a world full of serious problems.
I have become quite interested in Brazil after hosting three students from there. I have interesting and animated messenger conversations with them about the difficulties youth face in that country. In an article I read recently about the problems surrounding post-secondary education in that country - problems created by years of bad leadership - I found the following joke:
God and the angels were admiring God's handiwork after the creation of the world. As they began looking over Brazil, at the beautiful beaches and lush tropical vegetation, the angels began to protest.
"It's too beautiful! Too much like Paradise on earth!" they complained. To which God replied with a chuckle, "Ha! Just wait until you see the losers who will get to run the place!"
I shared this with two of my Brazilian sons, and both found it funny.
"Hah!" responded one. "That is so true it's sad!"
"The first step toward enlightenment is to lighten up on yourself"
-Bashar
I have no idea who Bashar is - or was - but I've come to understand the importance of not always taking myself too seriously. When I was younger, I was often uncertain how I should respond to certain brands of humour. Now that I've given myself permission to unleash my inner goofball, I care a lot less about how I'll be perceived. If I think it's funny, I'll laugh - it's that simple. I might even laugh too long and too loud, and I really don't care whether the people around me are as tickled as I am or not. Spare me from the buzz killing person who feels the urge to say, "it really wasn't that funny, Sharon!"
Honestly, unless the joke was really inappropriate, I'd never say that to anyone else.
I don't think a sense of humour has to be particularly highbrow. Laughter shouldn't be overly complicated. I can laugh at anything I deem amusing, and my standards aren't always that lofty. I like to laugh, and I enjoy watching other people laugh - even when I think the joke is a bit lame.
The world isn't quite as fun as it should be these days, and if life is a theme park ride it has become a rickety old wooden roller coaster that seems destined for imminent collapse. We need things to laugh at more than ever.
As long as your laughter doesn't come at anyone's expense, feel free to guffaw.
Micheal J Fox, a guy who has suffered a few setbacks in life, has this to say -
"I think the scariest person in the world is the person with no sense of humour."
Amen, Michael. This goofball couldn't agree more!
Let there not be any doubt -
proudly I proclaim -
inner goofball will come out,
and I feel no shame.
Case is clear - open and shut -
witnesses avow,
it's a fact that I'm a nut,
please don't save me now!
Let me be a happy fool,
sharing the inane,
not afraid to be uncool;
risking your disdain.
No desire to be aloof
holds my imp at bay.
I was born to be a goof -
I think that's okay.
I don't want to stress about
how I am perceived,
thus I'll let my goofball out -
sorry if you're grieved.
Humour is a saving grace -
when my days are done
may you all say I embraced
the art of having fun.
Sharon Flood Kasenberg, (Undated: found in the unfinished files)
"I don't trust anyone who doesn't laugh"
- Maya Angelou
For several days I've been mulling over a subject for another blog post. I read over the bits and pieces of unfinished jottings I keep on file, and even finished a few verses, but nothing hit the spot...until this morning when I rolled out of bed and wrote a lengthy and rather impressive ode to underwear in fifteen minutes flat! That's when I remembered the poem I start this post with, and suddenly my topic was clear...
Sometimes I actually do a bit of slapdash "research" before I write a blog post. I might google a few points or go on Wikipedia. I might even spend a few hours chasing down articles and reading them.
This time you are just getting my thoughts, and a few quotes. Why, you ask? Welllll...I tried typing "things that are universally funny" into my search engine, and most of what came up didn't strike me as all that amusing.
"Comedy is the art of making people laugh without making them puke"
-Steve Martin
Here, for example, is a list of the top ten things that make Americans laugh:
1) Things our kids say. Okay. This one I agree with. My husband and I still laugh about the time our older son, at about age three, walked into a room full of our assembled guests and solemnly asked, "Are Mom and Dad going to put the boys to bed early tonight and have sex?"
Decades later he still amuses. Yesterday he walked into the room where his father was working.
"Huh -" he said. "I didn't think you were home. I didn't hear you Skyping, farting or cursing!"
2) Sitcoms. This one is harder, because it really depends on which sitcoms you're talking about. Some make me laugh, some...not so much.
3) Memes and Animal Videos. Hmmmm...tough sell. Some memes are pretty funny, but generally I think that memes are overused. Double ditto for animal videos. I could happily live without ever seeing another dancing pet, but to each their own. I laugh at about one meme or animal video in ten. Maybe I'm just too fussy?
4) Reality TV. What? Really??? I can think of few things less likely to make me laugh than the ridiculously "unscripted" world of "reality" programs out there. Just NO.
5) Dad jokes. Why is Dad regarded as funnier than Mom? I asked my husband this question, and he looked at me in disbelief.
"Dads are men," he deadpanned. "And men just naturally do more stupid things than women."
Touche.
6) Knock knock jokes. Yup, they were hilarious when I was six.
7) People mispronouncing words. Here's my take on this one: If a person is a humble sort who makes an honest mistake when pronouncing a word, it is unkind to laugh. However, if the person in question is say...Donald Trump - then go ahead and guff it up! Covfefe!
8) Bad photos of people. My rule: If the person in the picture posted it acknowledging it as a funny photo, giggle all you want. If the photo was posted by someone else, with consent, giggle. If the photo was posted without consent, it was probably posted with the intent to humiliate the person depicted, which is mean, not funny.
9) Puns. Clever wordplay always gets two thumbs up!
10) Watching someone trip and fall. Exercise caution before laughing. Most of us know that it looks funny when we trip, but... Therefore, if the person stands up quickly, laughing heartily, feel free to join in, but there's nothing more unfunny than being caught laughing at a person who is thoroughly embarrassed and perhaps hurt.
The only conclusions I came to from this bit of "research" is that humour is extremely subjective, and that maybe my sense of humour is more sophisticated than I thought, in spite of how amused I can be by the subject of underwear.
"Imagination was given to man to compensate for what he is not; a sense of humour to console him for what he is."
- Francis Bacon
Not to mention what the world is, Francis!
I think laughing is important. Most of us don't do enough of it. Even when I'm feeling quite blue, I can generally manage at least a token snicker once or twice a day, because really - life is pretty ridiculous a whole lot of the time - and even though it often seems like there isn't much to laugh about, the inanities of life tend to collide with my funny bone and temporarily knock me out of the misery zone. I'm grateful for this ability to see a bit of nonsense in a world full of serious problems.
I have become quite interested in Brazil after hosting three students from there. I have interesting and animated messenger conversations with them about the difficulties youth face in that country. In an article I read recently about the problems surrounding post-secondary education in that country - problems created by years of bad leadership - I found the following joke:
God and the angels were admiring God's handiwork after the creation of the world. As they began looking over Brazil, at the beautiful beaches and lush tropical vegetation, the angels began to protest.
"It's too beautiful! Too much like Paradise on earth!" they complained. To which God replied with a chuckle, "Ha! Just wait until you see the losers who will get to run the place!"
I shared this with two of my Brazilian sons, and both found it funny.
"Hah!" responded one. "That is so true it's sad!"
"The first step toward enlightenment is to lighten up on yourself"
-Bashar
I have no idea who Bashar is - or was - but I've come to understand the importance of not always taking myself too seriously. When I was younger, I was often uncertain how I should respond to certain brands of humour. Now that I've given myself permission to unleash my inner goofball, I care a lot less about how I'll be perceived. If I think it's funny, I'll laugh - it's that simple. I might even laugh too long and too loud, and I really don't care whether the people around me are as tickled as I am or not. Spare me from the buzz killing person who feels the urge to say, "it really wasn't that funny, Sharon!"
Honestly, unless the joke was really inappropriate, I'd never say that to anyone else.
I don't think a sense of humour has to be particularly highbrow. Laughter shouldn't be overly complicated. I can laugh at anything I deem amusing, and my standards aren't always that lofty. I like to laugh, and I enjoy watching other people laugh - even when I think the joke is a bit lame.
The world isn't quite as fun as it should be these days, and if life is a theme park ride it has become a rickety old wooden roller coaster that seems destined for imminent collapse. We need things to laugh at more than ever.
As long as your laughter doesn't come at anyone's expense, feel free to guffaw.
Micheal J Fox, a guy who has suffered a few setbacks in life, has this to say -
"I think the scariest person in the world is the person with no sense of humour."
Amen, Michael. This goofball couldn't agree more!
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