new year's revolution

Here's something I wrote nine years ago, in 1995. I was in the midst of changing direction in my life, and while I knew instinctively that the results would be very good -- and even though I'd faced and conquered big change before -- it was scary to take those first steps. Big shifts and big leaps are a fairly routine part of my life now, though I still sometimes have to gently coax myself out of the small securities to embrace the new beginnings.

With the New Year fast approaching, and with many people contemplating their own resolutions for 2005, this essay seems timely.

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30 November 1995


res·o·lu·tion n. 1. firm determination. 2.a. The act of resolving. 2.b. Something resolved, esp. a decision or expression of opinion adopted by a deliberative body. 3. A solving, as of a problem.

(Webster's II New Riverside Dictionary)

As we again find ourselves closing in on another New Year, many of us are honoring the age-old tradition of composing our heartfelt New Year's Resolutions. We make promises to change the things that are not working in our lives, or we resolve to finally get around to doing that one exciting and important thing which we have put off for too long. We resolve to lose weight, to stop smoking, to spend more time with our families, to start eating better and getting more exercise, to give more of our time and resources to charity and community causes.

We brag about these resolutions at New Year's parties, spreading the word that yes, we really are going to do such-and-such. It doesn't matter that we made exactly the same promises last year, or that we probably are just as determined this year as we were in all of the years before. Before we know it, the year has again come to a close, and again, we have failed to honor the sincere commitments we made just twelve months earlier -- providing, of course, that we even remember these pledges. But that's all part of the fun of New Year's. Isn't it?

Since we most likely will not actually hold ourselves to the majority of the resolutions we make, why not go ahead and make all sorts of outlandish promises? Standing around the holiday bar and buffet boasting of all of the mundane changes we actually will make during the coming year isn't nearly as entertaining. Who wants to hear about installing an extra cable television outlet in the house, or of planting a daring new herb in the summer garden? We all want to be regaled by declarations of stone cold sobriety and promises to start up that cutting-edge new business venture. We want to hear about the people who are definitely going to walk across the country this year, who are going to embark upon all sorts of exciting new adventures. We want to hear them say that nothing can stand in their way. Not this year.

What we need to keep in mind is that not only are we giving our word, for everyone else to hear, we are also making these promises to ourselves, and we are repeatedly letting ourselves down. It seems as though the more dramatic the resolution -- to reduce from a size 14 to a size 6 by summer; to finally go skydiving or bunge jumping -- the greater the certainty that we will actually honor such resolve. It seems that it would be so much easier to put off the small, insignificant promises than to lock away the big ones for yet another year. At least, so it seems on New Year's Day.

But the majority of those who begin running those three miles every morning on January 2nd are sleeping in again once February and March roll around. It becomes more and more difficult to remain true to our January 1st commitment as we continue on in our daily lives as the year wears on, and as we fall into the same comfortable routines again. No matter how firm our resolve on New Year's Day, there always seem to be more reasons to give up the resolution than there seem to be for keeping it. But then again, giving up is part of this custom, right?

But this year, let's try something different. Let's be daring and throw out this tradition of the New Year's Resolution.

Instead, why not commit to a New Year's Revolution?

A revolution is total upheaval. A revolution involves near complete elimination of the old in order to make way for the new, in a very big way. A revolution is no small matter. A revolution in our own lives requires that we let go of that which we no longer need, that which weighs us down and keeps us from becoming the people that we want to be. A revolution requires that we re-invent ourselves and our lives.

Surprisingly often we find that changes are most easily made when the transition is a fairly drastic one. A smoker who quits "cold turkey" will have greater success remaining free of tobacco and nicotine than one who tries to ease off the habit slowly. Recovering alcoholics report similar results when resolutely refusing to feed their addiction any longer. While such large changes are the most frightening to make, going to extremes can guarantee that we won't simply fall into the same old routines again out of habit and inertia. When we make a clean break, there will no longer be an old routine to which to return.

Leaving behind what is known is more than just a little bit stressful. Whether our habits have been good ones or bad ones, and regardless of whether or not we are even happy in our lives, there is great comfort to be found in routine. When we start contemplating a radical departure from the way we live our lives, the mounting anxiety alone has the power to deter us from making changes which may be necessary for our own happiness and viability.

Consider the account executive who fantasizes on and off about returning to school. He wanted to be a history teacher right from the start, but somewhere along the way he allowed himself to be convinced that the smart money was in actuarial tables, while teachers struggle to eke out any kind of an existence. Why should he concern himself with making a difference when he has his retirement years to worry about?

Or perhaps his plan was to plunge into the workforce full time for a few years, so that he could save up the necessary funds for graduate school, but now that he has reached a place where he finally can pursue those academic dreams, the doubt begins to tug at him. Jobs in education are disappearing. Perhaps he now has a family to support or has grown used to a certain standard of living. Doesn't he remember how poor he was as a student? Who wants to do that again? Besides, he never did get around to taking those GREs.

When we get bogged down in material anxiety like this, happiness no longer is an issue. It doesn't seem nearly as important that we are miserable where we are. At least where we are is safe. Our accounting executive has a regular paycheck, company benefits, and a certain though limited road of advancement. He has security. It is not so difficult to work ourselves into a place where security is everything.

An even more extreme example is the wife and mother who remains in an abusive marriage. She tells herself that she needs to think of the children -- how will she feed and clothe them if she leaves her violent husband? She tells herself that it could be so much worse. At least she knows what to expect from her husband; out in the world alone, who knows what might happen to her?

We may not find ourselves in such dire circumstances, but chances are that if we have learned to let outside influences -- the approval of others, an uncertain economy, the status quo -- dictate even the smallest aspects of our lives, then these are parts of our lives which we are not living. Regardless of how the limitations are presented to us, we accept them and carry on within these constraints. Sometimes, we are just as content as we would have been otherwise. More likely, however, we must continually fight against mounting evidence that not all is right in our lives.

Once we have grown accustomed to an established set of circumstances, the threat of change looming overhead can be too much for us to take. And so rather than stepping up to accept the challenge, we turn away, perhaps even convincing ourselves that living in our present circumstances isn't so bad after all. We sink back down into an empty complacency and try not to notice that we are indeed stagnating.

We all have our bag of regrets that we carry along with us throughout our lives. It could be heavy with the weight of a long-anticipated family vacation for which we never quite found the time. Maybe it was that we failed to bite the bullet to make that risky career change, choosing instead the security and steady unfulfillment of the same job we've held for years. Or perhaps it was a lifelong dream left unrealized, because the timing or the money never seemed to be quite right.

But one thing is for certain: life does not simply wait around for us to make up our minds. Time marches on, and before we know it, we have run out of time.

How many opportunities do we expect to come along to make these changes? How many New Year's Resolutions do we intend to break from year to year? Are we satisfied with our quiescence, or are we haunted by open doors which we passed by? Do we want to be remembered for playing it safe or for taking the plunge? Do we honestly want to reach the end of our lives and find that we have nothing but regret for the chances that we didn't take?

The New Year offers us the symbolic birth of new beginnings and new opportunities. Yet year after year, we let it pass as nothing more than a holiday during which to make more empty resolutions and false promises. Change is not easy. Change is very often the scariest thing in the world. But change is also the only true constant in this universe. If we don't choose change for ourselves, chances are life will choose change for us.

But we can take this power into our own hands. We make the choice for a Revolution in our lives, whether our tactics be large or small. Life is too short to waste another minute in any situation or circumstance which is not fulfilling or which is simply not working. A resolution is a party favor. A revolution is a life-affirming commitment which returns to us the excitement and the authority over our own lives.

No one looks forward to or relishes the kind of stress which transition can bring, even when the changes which are being made are good and healthy ones. But making that leap means that we don't look back. It means that our lives will never be the same. It means that we are finally accepting the great adventures which life has to offer us.

True, we might fail. We might fall flat on our faces and make total, irrevocable fools out of ourselves. We might choose the "wrong" chance to take at the "wrong time," or we might make a false start in the "wrong" direction.

But at least we will have tried. At least we won't be caught wondering "what if" for the rest of our lives. Just as change is the only constant, there is also no limit to the number of times we can start our lives over again. We are the ones who place such insurmountable restrictions on ourselves, and we are the ones who can choose freedom instead.

So this New Year's, why not leave the resolutions behind in favor of instigating a little revolution? Why not go ahead and introduce a little upheaval into our lives? At the very worst, we will have simply put our desires and our dreams to the test. At the very best.... well, that's completely up to us, isn't it?

And if we ever feel our old pals anxiety and inertia showing their faces again, we can always affirm to ourselves, "Relax. It's only change."

fear

I've been seeing trailers for the upcoming movie, "White Noise," and while the premise appeals to me, I have no interest in the way the story has been developed; at least, I have no interest in what the trailers tell me the movie is about. Granted, I've not read a script or even anything more than a two-sentence synopsis outlining "White Noise" as a "supsense/horror" movie.

"White Noise" appears to be based on a phenomenon called Electronic Voice Phenomena (EVP), in which the voices of deceased persons can be recorded. But this blog entry isn't so much about the movie, or about EVP, which I don't even know much about (for more information, visit The American Association of Electronic Voice Phenomenon); rather, I'd like to discuss fear.

The filmmakers could have chosen to craft a story about loved ones reaching across the life-death divide to heal past hurts, to offer reassurance to the grieving, to send messages of love, and to come to closure and forgiveness. EVP could have been used as the starting point for an uplifting and inspiring story. It probably wouldn't have sold as many movie tickets as a suspenseful thriller, but it could have had a profoundly positive impact on moviegoers and, by default, on the world at large.

But instead of raising energy, "White Noise" appears to focus on the darker downward spiral, pandering to more sinister energies. Even if the movie does turn out to have a hopeful message in the end, it is still relying upon fear to sell tickets and to push the story along.

Why does this bother me? Here's why:

Our emotions have energy. You can feel it in your body, in every fiber of your being. There's a big difference between happiness and depression, between excitement and rage. And these energies can be quite contagious. It feels good to be around other people who are feeling good -- just take a look at the dynamics of a good party. No one wants a "wet blanket" at that party, because being around people who are feeling low can be "a real downer." Our own emotional states can be easily influenced, and those energies can be reaped.

There are forces in this world -- individuals, corporations, etc. -- that feed off of the fear of others. This is what makes a dictatorship possible, what congeals the "mob mentality", and what makes it easy to push something like the Patriot Act through Congress. People give up their own power when they are afraid. When afraid, we are vulnerable and easily influenced. When fear is packaged so nicely for us -- as in a horror movie or an international holy war against an unseen enemy -- we become attracted to, sometimes even addicted to, the grand drama of that kind of anguish, the highs and lows that are possible. Feeling afraid can be a thrilling, exciting experience -- which is why people keep buying plastic sheeting and duct tape, and why horror movies and thrillers can really rake in the big bucks. We end up yearning for the manipulation, even paying good money to be frightened, because we see it as entertainment. Barbara Marciniak details this brilliantly in "The Bringers of the Dawn."

Who benefits, in the end, from that fear? It's not you and me.

When you're standing in the ticket line at the theatre, waiting to see this week's new horror movie, think for moment. You're about to spend money you earned to pay someone to frighten you. Maybe that's okay with you. But think about how this extends beyond the movie megaplex. Advertisers routinely frighten you into buying their products: "Buy our security system, or your home will be destroyed! Buy our clothes, or you won't be cool! Buy our drug, or your liver will collapse! Buy our soda, or you won't have any fun! Buy our skin cream, or you'll look like an old hag and no one will love you!" Hate groups use fear to swell their ranks and further their agendas: "Join us, or the homos, immigrants, and atheists will take over the schools and infect the children!" And governments have a long history of using fear to manipulate entire populations.

(Except for that one young man who stared down the tanks in Tiananmen Square....)

Sure, some people might come away from "White Noise" with a genuine interest in the positive aspects of EVP or with a larger, more open minded view of the world. But I'm guessing that most will walk out of the theatre satisfied with being terrified by just another horror movie, just another opportunity for a major entertainment corporation to make millions of dollars off of scaring the bejesus out of people.... when for a few million less, they could have helped make the world a better place.

Isn't your time -- and your money -- more valuable than that? Isn't your own energy more precious? Life is too short to let other people push you around.

small-mindedness

Last night, I dreamt that I was in attendance at a very large "open house" at a local church. There was music, lots of flowers and candles, and many members of the church on hand to greet guests from the community. With its massive columns and other classical features, the church itself looked as though it would be more at home in ancient Rome.

(I should pause here to mention that while I was raised Episcopalian, I do not now consider myself to be a Christian. I am more of a universal, interfaith type.)

(And yes, there is a point to this blog entry.)

I filed into the church, curious as to what this new religious presence would offer, and placed a bouquet of periwinkle flowers on one of the altars as a kind of "temple-warming gift." All around me, though, I heard the church members attempting to comfort grieving guests, reassuring them that their loved ones were now in heaven, with "Jesus the king" -- essentially spouting what I considered to be empty, evangelical rhetoric -- even though those who were grieving were not "believers." I don't know why there were so many mourners from outside the church there at the event, but I finally got fed up with it and stormed out.

One of the "sisters" followed me, wanting to know what was wrong, and I spat out something about their small-mindedness in preaching doctrine to people in pain instead of offering them simple, human comfort. I was hurrying down the steps when I noticed that the sister had caught the arm of another, lesser sister, and instructed her to remove the bouquet I had left. She explained simply that the flowers were "tainted" and had no place on the church altar.

I followed this second woman as she carried my bouquet along the side of the temple, down a long, dark alley, finally coming to a large collection of cleaning supplies, where she dumped the bouquet into the trash. She stood there a moment, looking at the flowers in the garbage, and shook her head sadly.

I came up behind her and asked her why she had thrown them away. It was obvious that she had no idea what had happened on the church steps, nor that the flowers had been my gift.

I talked with her awhile, saying that it was a real shame that some people can only see things one way, without being open to other ideas. Pointing to the flowers, I suggested that it was like proclaiming that there could only be one true flower color in the world. Wouldn't that be sad? While certainly still beautiful, it would be an unnecessary limit on creation, the wasted potential of God, when there are so many colors and varieties of flowers that simply add more beauty, rather than competing with each other. (In my dream, I explained this much better, by the way.)

The sister began crying, asking how I could possibly forgive her for throwing away the flowers. I started talking about needing to first forgive oneself, and quoted scripture from her own religious tradition -- Jesus advising those who would seek to remove a splinter from a neighbor's eye to first attend to the log in their own.

And that's when it hit me. The small-mindedness that had begun the entire incident, was mine. I had been the one who had judged the church members and created a scene on the temple steps. Log in my eye, indeed.

I woke up feeling very good about this dream. I think it combines two elements (as well as some minor ones I won't go into):

1. There is much chaos surrounding the winter holidays, and even now most people assume that everyone else celebrates Christmas. Not Hanukkah, not Yule, not Kwanzaa, but Christmas. And yes, this does irk me a bit. So I'm guessing that's where the church came in.

2. I had been reflecting last evening on how I criticize myself. We all do, and this self-recrimination often stands in the way of connecting with other people, not to mention throwing obstacles into our own paths. I can judge myself harshly for judging others, and it's hard to climb up high when you keep beating yourself down.

The dream also echoed Wayne Dyer's "The Power of Intention," which I have been reading. Quite a powerful book, actually. I practice compassion daily. And believe me, it is still "practice," as I often have to remind myself that true compassion begins at home. The only mind I have to change is my own.

So, what's my point? My point is pointing. When you point your finger at someone else, you have three more fingers pointing right back at you. Sure. But it's also not so helpful to have all four fingers pointed at yourself, either (or eight, if you happen to be using both hands). Frustration over other people's narrow-mindedness merely betrays our own, yet it's not then required to be narrow-minded and judgmental with ourselves about being narrow-minded and judgmental.

Fill your eyes and heart instead with compassion and love, especially when you can't get your mind around why someone would believe or behave the way they do. Because, wouldn't it be a shame if we mistook the silly shadows of finger-pointing as the totality of the world, and completely ignored the light?

the futon life

I've had an interesting e-mail exchange this afternoon with a friend in the Bay Area. What started out as a conversation about an orphan deer being adopted by a large dog, grew into a discussion about the joys of sleeping on a futon mattress.

After I clicked "send" on the last installment in this e-mail exchange, I realized that I'd just written my next blog entry. Here it is (with a few modifications):

I am the futon queen. I first slept on a futon when renting a furnished room in a house for the summer of 1989 in Durham, North Carolina -- I'd decided to do summer school after freshman year at Duke, instead of going home. There was no frame, just the futon mattress. It was a revelation, sleeping on the floor. I also had hung a really groovy batiked bedspread on the wall at the head of the "bed," for the full bohemian effect.

In my first apartment, in Los Angeles, my new roommate and I both bought futon beds, because they were cheap. She liked to convert hers into a couch during the day, whereas mine was a full-time bed. I loved it. But when I moved back to Virginia, I inherited an antique box spring and so went back to traditional mattresses.... Until I built my loft out of PVC pipe in 1994. At first, the guys at Lowe's thought I was nuts, but I showed them my design for the loft and explained my choice of materials, and they were intrigued. It was pretty cool, sleeping six feet in the air, and after the cat peed on the regular mattress (summer of 1995), I replaced it with a futon mattress. As I moved around Richmond in subsequent years, one futon led to another.... I've not had a "traditional bed" since.

The last futon I had in Richmond was a pretty long-suffering mattress, however. I got it when Nanook was still a puppy, and he ripped into that thing a few times. It was still in great shape, but I was embarrased to change the sheets in front of anyone else, since the mattress had been repaired with duct tape. Preparing to leave Virginia, I donated it to a very grateful college student, who couldn't have cared less about the duct tape.

When I moved to Portland a few months back, I headed downtown to Rock Soft Futon to buy my new bed. I'd already picked out what I wanted from their website: a simple wood frame (the basic model) with a queen-sized mattress with extra layers of foam and wool (the "ultra wool"), to keep it warm in winter and cool in summer. The lady in the store congratulated me on my good taste, as I'd picked out the very same configuration she had at home.

Since it's a queen, there's finally enough room for me once all the critters pile on (which they do, frequently). They still have a tendency to nestle rather tightly around me, to the point that I feel as though I'm squeezing myself out of a tube of toothpaste when it's time to get up. All that room on the spacious bed, and they have to play "pile on Jen." But I love my futon bed. Very often, I don't want to get out of it, and think of all sorts of excuses during the day for why I should get back in it. It's awfully tempting, with the bedroom just down the hall from my office....

without a coat

It's official. I'm an Oregonian.

Even though it's only 36 degrees F outside today, I was one of those annoying people running around without a jacket. Just the other day, when it was perhaps a few degrees warmer, I insisted upon taking my winter jacket with me on the train ride into downtown, even though I was sitting with people in shorts. Not many people in shorts, but some.

My friends tease me about "always being cold," usually wearing at least one more layer of clothing than everyone else. I broke out my fingerless gloves as early as September (for a walk on the beach at Manzanita) and turned on the heat in the house in October. Although I've not yet built a fire in my new fireplace, I do keep a space heater under my desk and have a wool blanket ready in my favorite rocking chair.

The natives have told me that it doesn't typically get this cold this early in the season -- if you consider this to be winter, which doesn't officially begin until late December. It has been hovering right around freezing most mornings -- sometimes a few degrees above, sometimes a few below -- when I get up to walk the dogs, which means I need to watch out for a slippery deck in the courtyard when I take those first steps out the door. Just last week, my husky (who should have known better) wiped out when dashing across some frosty pavement. Even though our forecasts call for highs in the 40s, I've not seen it happen; I'm guessing the temperature slowly creeps up toward 40, then makes a wild run at 43 and hangs out there for a split second before racing back down below the 40 mark.

I am not complaining. Though it's probably a bit warmer just now back in my home state of Virginia, January and February can be brutal there, with cold snaps that can see temperatures plummeting to around 12 for days at a time. Last winter, we had several of those cold spells, with only a few days' reprieve -- with temperatures "warming" into the 20s -- in between. I spent a good bit of time huddled under a blanket, practically inside the hearth, while reading "Cold Mountain" as the fire burned. Come to think of it, that tale of desperation may not have been the best choice of reading material.

Today, though, I ran errands under overcast skies, cozy in my lightweight fleece pullover. Most everyone else had jackets and coats on, so perhaps I wasn't so much in the minority after all, snug in my parka the other day.

Granted, if I had to remain stationery in such temperatures, I'd have to bundle up. But today I enjoyed joining my fellow Portlanders outside while underdressed for the weather. Though my hands felt a bit icy, I was congratulating myself on leaving my coat at home.... until I spotted a guy on a work crew in a short-sleeve shirt.

Yeah. I'll need some more time before I can work up to that level.