A Personality Disorder or Just Human Nature?

 

personality disorder - noun - type of mental disorder in which you have a rigid and unhealthy pattern or thinking, functioning and behaving (Google).

I don't know about you, but I've always had an interest in psychology, perhaps even more so now that my current love interest is a psycho-therapist. Way before he and I reunited after forty years of being out of touch, I had attracted people, particularly men, suffering (albeit sans their knowledge) from a personality disorder, the most popular of which is narcissism. Apparently, individuals like myself who tend to be empathic, attractive and successful listeners are bloody bait for the sharks who feed off their willingness to accept them on any level. Surely everyone is a tad selfish, but the narcissist transcends ordinary selfishness; he or she is delusional, willing to fool the gullible and himself or herself into thinking his or her bad behavior (entitlement, anger, vindictiveness, manipulation, etc.) is warranted given the circumstances when it isn't. I'm sure that everyone of you has fallen victim to this sort of person at one time or another; and if you have, you probably already know that the best way to shut one down is just to say no and mean it. It definitely worked for me in the past since I was able to end two very lengthy, destructive love relationships with narcissists simply by being firm and unemotional. (If you fear that you might just be a narcissist, perhaps you might seriously consider therapy with an experienced professional. But if you are a true narcissist, you believe that you are just fine and don't need it in which case, you may be a lost cause. Sorry about that. I can be as subtle as a train wreck, or so I've been told.)

Personality disorders I can understand because they can be diagnosed, analyzed and dealt with in one way or another, but a foible of human nature isn't as comprehensible. Case in point: years ago, as a student of German, my sister lived with a family in Heilbronn, Germany for the summer. She hit it off big with the entire clan and has remained close friends with the last remaining until the present. One summer, three of the four decided to visit, and we took them up to a resort hotel in New York State that resembles a German castle. Needless to say, they felt very much at home. What struck me as ironic, though, was that the father, Vater, had been a member of the Hitler Youth organization and fought valiantly on the side of the Third Reich during World War II. My father, who had been a private in the U.S. Army infantry, naturally fought against Vater in the early 1940s. In short, at one time, they had been mortal enemies. Yet here they were some thirty years later, chatting, joking, sharing war stories as if they had been close cronies for decades. Proudly and unabashedly, Vater was revealing his multiple bullet wounds, which my father, in theory, could have given him. The question remains: How can people aim to shoot and kill each other in one moment and then (after some time) become bosom buddies in the next? This sort of diametrical "change of heart" has nothing to do with a personality disorder; contrarily, it is accepted as part of life. "All is fair in love and war" or "Time heals all wounds." But it is something I will never be able to fathom as to me, it defies common sense. Yet so does the concept of war itself.

Let's face it: the complexities of human beings are not easy to penetrate and apprehend. We are part and parcel of this mysterious existence that seems to depend on dualities, contradictions that are reflected and exemplified before us on a daily basis. The psychology of us may even be the greatest paradox yet.

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary 

Inner Light: Ruminations of a Monk

 

rumination - noun - action or process of thinking deeply about something.

It is possible, albeit improbable considering the nature of human nature, to let go of everything that eats at you from the inside out, anything that causes you inner conflict, everything that obscures the light of your being. I've witnessed the release myself while attending sessions in meditation at the local Buddhist temple. As highly sentient, disciplined beings, the monks there spend a large portion of their lives ensconced in rumination. They concentrate themselves into a blissful state of profound tranquility, which, considering the surrounding chaos that perpetuates itself on a daily basis, is not easy to do. What amazes me is that they seem to exist to inculcate the possibility of peace or light in those who are open to their philosophy and practice. 

To save you a bit of time and effort, I'll share with you this past Tuesday's philosophical, yet practical, offerings from a monk that Zoomed into the temple from his retreat in New York City. Apparently, his mentor had imparted the same practical thoughts to him, and the monk felt it was his purpose to edify the three of us who showed up to chant and meditate. The most salient and sensible statement made was in the form of an observation: "People are so busy making a living, they forget to make a life." Bingo! We have all been guilty of this at one time or another. The business of busyness consumes us whole so that we bypass the roses altogether without being mindful of our intrinsic desire to smell them. Sadly, we don't even notice their beauty because we are so caught up living in advance of the moment. Perhaps what we need to do is compose a to-do list just for making a life as opposed to following a routine shopping list of what is required of us in order to get from point A to point B in our overly scheduled lives. 

Furthermore, according to the monk, we can set the stress and confusion of existence aside and walk and function in a state of peacefulness and illumination if that is our aim. "If you make time to shower each morning, make time to shower your mind from thoughts that keep you from maintaining inner peace." This makes perfect sense because so many of us choose to obsess over the minutiae and allow it to interfere with the calmness that is within our capabilities. 

The last bit of advice he presented was "Strive for inner peace via meditation. Once you find it, hold onto it. Be consistent, not careless." Meditation is the means to the end, the light at the end of the Lincoln Tunnel of turmoil. But you have to be consistent in your practice, which takes a bit of doing. Carelessness, which should probably be an addition to the seven deadly sins right beside sloth, is the opposite of mindfulness. It is avoidance, negligence. If we are serious about walking in the light of peace, we have to circumvent carelessness or obliterate it from our stash of character traits. 

All of the above starts with a serious amount of rumination and then active meditation. To achieve anything worthwhile takes time and effort. If you are earnest about self-improvement, then you will do what it takes to accomplish your goals. 

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary 

Luminescence: Following the Glow

 

luminescence - noun - an emission of light by a substance that has not been heated (Google).

For an unbeknown reason, light has been on my mind lately, primarily the luminescence that potentially shines from within. I use the adverb "potentially" as we all know darkness can easily consume any intrinsic glow quite easily, especially now since all the news that the media broadcast forebodes gloom and doom. Yet in all situations, a certain degree of choice is involved. Often we can opt for light over  darkness, happiness over despair, as easily as making the decision to switch on or off an electric light in a room. Sometimes it is not easy, particularly if mental illness is involved, yet if it isn't, the potential for light is omnipresent. How can we find it? To get to the luminescence on the offing, all we have to do is steer towards it, trusting our instincts as sailors in life. 

Case in point: Last Friday, Good Friday, I wanted to attend an evening church service to reexamine the significance of the day, perhaps find light in what is generally a dark tale. Since not too many churches offer services celebrating the dire occasion of Jesus's crucifixion, I did some on-line research and found that the Methodist church where I was married thirty-five years ago was holding a Tenebrae service, which features a slow extinguishing of candles in a candelabra over the course of an hour: brightness subsiding into blackness to symbolize Jesus's gradual loss of consciousness and finally, death on the cross. It's not what I'd term a luminescent ceremony; indeed, it is quite the opposite as it tends to focus on grief. Because I was running late, I almost decided not to attend, but something inside of me, perhaps a glow of some sort, propelled me. I followed the luminous path.

When I walked into the church sanctuary, a director asked me to sit with about six others in the chancel, the space normally reserved for the choir in back of the alter. After I sat down, the people seated around me (primarily women) were extremely friendly and welcoming. (In case you are of a different faith, true Christians tend to be like this–particularly in church–since the religion is all about reaching out to neighbors and treating them like you would want to be treated.) One divorced woman like myself by the name of Barbara told me she had recently moved to my town from St. Louis and was having a difficult time finding friends, something I could relate to as I had been in similar circumstances at least once in my life.

Later on after the service, in the church parking lot, we continued the conversation. I confided in Barb that as most of my women friends are married that I could use a few more single friends to pal around with when my married friends were off with their husbands. Of course, she was delighted at the prospect of transcending her loneliness, and we exchanged contact information. Despite the sombre tone of Good Friday, light managed to shine through, truly making the Friday good. 

The takeaway here is quite obvious: Positivity of some sort usually creeps in if we let it. Sometimes we have to trust our instincts and follow the luminescence of the spirit to wherever it may take us, the offing or beyond. 

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary 

Dr. MLK Jr.'s Apercu, the Church and Voluntary Segregation

 

apercu - noun - (French) - comment of brief reference that makes an illuminating point (Google).

If you consider yourself to be a Christian, this week holds profound significance for you as it marks the savior Jesus's journey from life to death to life again. Easter Sunday motivates believers, particularly Protestants who tend to be remiss, to attend church as it is considered the holiest day of the year. Since I appreciate the institution, I will make an appearance on select Sundays in addition to Easter Sunday. Usually, I roll out of bed at 10 a.m. and make it to my community Presbyterian church by 10:45, with just enough time to take a gander at the congregation and be reminded of Dr. Martin Luther King's apercu regarding segregation, "It is appalling that the most segregated hour of Christian America is eleven o'clock on Sunday morning, the same hour when many are standing to sing, "In Christ There is No East or West." Why? Because in my church, there isn't a black or chocolate or yellow face in the mix. Ironically in a land that includes "united" in its name, Christian churches and their schools are bastions of separatism.  Which is tragic since lack of education and voluntary segregation is at the root of racism, an evil that needs to be eradicated once and for all.

Forget the church for a second. Why do we segregate ourselves on the basis of color? I am sure an edified psychologist could provide pages as to why; but personally, I think we do it because it is safe, comfortable. Simply put, we feel more at ease flocking with birds of the same feather. Former First Lady Michelle Obama in her memoir Becoming admits to having a need for her black friends when she attended Princeton, a predominantly male, white university in the 1980s. Being a student of color there "was jarring and uncomfortable...like being dropped into a strange new terrarium, a habitat that hadn't been built for me" (72). During the same decade when I taught English at a Catholic girls' high school, the minority population of which being at fifty percent, voluntary segregation was blatantly obvious in the cafeteria at lunch. The black girls sat on the left side, whereas the white girls sat on the right. An outsider looking in would unjustly assume the nuns had a role in the division when it was the girls themselves doing the parceling out by race. As someone who has always detested the idea of racism and has found inclusion in diverse groups, I was livid at the discovery and asked one of my classes for an explanation. For lack of a more pertinent reason, they conquered, "We don't like the same kind of music," as if music were a universally accepted, divisive culprit. Needless to say, as a professor singer, that answer further exacerbated the heat of my exasperation. Of course, what the naive neophytes were really saying was that they had little in common and that maybe it would be too much work to find out that they actually did. 

Which is essentially the problem. Most of us are too comfortable with comfort. Most of us would rather stay put in our segregated churches and schools because it takes effort (and a bit of courage) to find other institutions that pride themselves on diversity. It takes effort to get to know people of different backgrounds. It takes effort to see that beneath the surface there is sameness, that we are all human beings with similar needs and desires. 

Hey, Christians out there. Be an authentic disciple this Holy Week and try to do a bit of reaching out. On Easter Sunday, if you belong to a white church, go to a black church. Or if you attend a black church, go to a white church. Make it a point to integrate voluntarily. You'll find that there is little difference in the religious services conducted because we worship the same God. Okay, maybe the hymns might sound a bit different, but the lyrics will be thematically identical. Or just find a church that includes a patchwork of colors in its congregation, a quilt of unity based on love. For love knows no boundaries and is always the solution. An apercu that MLK Jr. knew for a fact.

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary 

Signs that Snap, Crackle and Pop!

pied-a-terre - noun - (French: foot to the ground) - a temporary lodging, home away from home (Google).

I don't know about you, but I have always believed that the Universe speaks to us. Yet sometimes its communication is thwarted as we are either unfamiliar with the language it uses, or we intentionally or unintentionally ignore the discernible writing on the wall. Often what the Universe is trying to get across to us is so powerfully obvious that we cannot turn a blind eye to it. And when it does post its warning on a billboard, it motivates us to find an alternative, safe pied-a-terre that may soon become permanent.

Case in point: Last Thursday night during a fierce, spring rain storm, I was minding my own business (something that can often invite trouble), answering a friend's email on my laptop when the lights started to blink, creating a dizzying optical illusion reminiscent of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and its shadowy cubist sets, the perfect background for a horror film that became my reality. I looked out the dining room window to witness billowing, black smoke rising from in front of a house two blocks away, streaks of sparks giving way to flames dancing in front of the dark clouds and the zooming sound of unleashed, mega wattage permeating the air, filling our ears. Even though I knew that a tree had most likely fallen on a live wire, what I witnessed looked more like a jetliner going down, taking power lines with it. Within moments, the electricity was down all over town amidst heavy rain, thunder, and lightning. My in-house generator failed (probably because of the power surges brought on by the downed wire), and we had to set up a portable unit (luckily I had one) to ensure that the sump pump would continue to run so that our finished basement wouldn't transmogrify into a pond. Thank God that the pump continued its routine and that the basement managed to remain unaltered until all circuits were energized to normalcy. Yet as a result of the experience, my circuits were permanently blown. I interpreted the nightmare to be the Universe's foreshadowing, a hint of what might come in the future given Mother Nature's anger lately. At that precise moment, my dithering over whether or not I should move to higher ground ended abruptly. I could read the command on the billboard that grew up like a monolith before me, "Get out!" I am now planning to find a pied-a-terre or something better as soon as I am able.

No doubt, you, too, have encountered clues from the Universe directing you to follow a particular path. In the end, though, it is your choice as to whether or not you will add them up and make a determination to change your course or take the risk of enduring more challenges along the journey. It takes a bit of courage to heed the signs and put your feet to the ground, especially when it is so easy to stay on the couch, binge-watching Bridgerton. Just remember to keep the faith, and do what you have to do to survive. 

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary 

A Little and A Lot of Romance

 

romance - noun - a feeling of excitement and mystery associated with love. 2. a quality or feeling of mystery, excitement and remoteness from everyday life (Google). 

"Romance" is one of numerous abstractions that is openly defiant of objectivity. Indeed, everyone possesses her or his own conception of it. When I think of the term, I automatically revert back a few centuries to medieval times when chivalry was the name of the game, and knights jousted to win or hold on tightly to the hearts of their obsequious women who observed them loyally on the sidelines, waving flags cut from their insignias. As a retired high school English teacher specializing in British literature, I also think of the plethora of Romantic poets, men like Wordsworth, Shelley, Keats, and Blake, who graced the late 1700s with their ethereal imagery created by now antiquated, yet beatific language. Ahhh, I sigh grievously as I doubt the poets in the present will ever be able to hold a candle to them. But these reflections of romance are mine. What about everyone else's? How do others define romance?

In an effort to uncover the real meaning of romance, I took to the internet, naturally. When I Googled "romance," a found a short series of questions, the first being, "What is the real meaning of romance?" Ah, ha! How apt that Google should anticipate my query! Unfortunately, its answer wasn't all that agreeable. In fact it created a conundrum for me since I thought I knew where it might go with this, but it turned out sharing something completely unforeseen: "Romance is a relationship between two people who are in love with each other but who are not married to each other" (Collins-English Dictionary). Ouch! What a humiliating smack in the face for those engaged in wedded bliss! It is as though Collins (whoever he is) reserves the "feeling of excitement and mystery associated with love" only for dating singles. Really? I could wax cynical and say that Collins is probably correct, but that would be a bit unkind, especially to my legions of legally attached friends.

Unscathed and undeterred, I continued my search for knowledge, coming across romance defined separately via the opposing sexes. Apparently, women define romance as "words and behaviors that represent that they are loved, cherished, valued, respected, and desired." Which is a bit nonspecific, but I think you can get the gist of it. However, men connected romance with "everyday displays of love, like expressing interest in what they are thinking, feeling, and wanting." No surprises there. It seems obvious that both genders associate romance with the need for attention and desire for a degree of recognition. (Uh, ah! It's a bit sad that the selfish gene is actively at work here, but it makes sense.) 

As my quest did not impart what I was looking for, I closed my laptop feeling a bit deflated. Surely there must be a better takeaway? A more substantial, a tad more altruistic answer to the question posed? And then Don Quixote popped into my head. Yes! The quest for the impossible dream! Cervantes' quixotic Don is the perennial lover of love, believer in all that is inconceivable, the penultimate romantic. For those who are searching for just the right definition of romance, don't think beyond Quixote. :)

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary 

A Portrait As Peace

 

coterminous - adjective - having the same boundaries or extent in space, time or meaning, co-existing (Google). 

Ben Franklin once stated that nothing in this world is certain except death and taxes. Even multiple decades later, no one could contest his line of pragmatic reasoning. Although at present we are in the midst of tax season–less than two weeks before the IRS's deadline–death has no specific season as it is, unfortunately, ubiquitous: a reality for all seasons. Those who are directed to pay huge sums to Uncle Sam eventually get past the feeling that somehow they have been cheated out of their hard-earned cash, but those who experience the loss of a loved one may find their grief to be infinite as opposed to finite if they choose to dwell in the space left vacant by departure. Others resort to creative means to fill the gap left when someone special departs. One of which is the portrait. (Don't worry. I'm not heading in the direction of Dorian Gray although if you have never read Wilde's classic, The Picture of Dorian Gray, I highly recommend that you do.)

Last week, my daughter and I were invited to a goulash party at my friend's father's home. (How's that for new and different?) The father, Ted, who is at least 90, is perhaps the most timeless individual I've ever met and perhaps the best chef, specializing in the perpetuation of Hungarian goulash, the recipe for which his mother procured from the W.P.A. (Think of the Great Depression here.) In the late 1980's, Ted and his family lost a daughter, Lindsay, 27, who was also a friend of mine, to a cerebral aneurysm. I can't imagine anything more grievous than the loss of a child, yet the family worked through it, cleaving to faith and fond memories primarily, one of which Ted had preserved via a portrait. When I walked through the door and into the living room of his museum of an unaltered house–something I had not done in forty years– to my left was a pastel likeness of Lindsay, so photographic in its authenticity that I did a double take because I thought I was looking right at her in the flesh. I recognized the fragile wreath of flowers on her head and the frilly, peach bodice of a dress she wore as the bridesmaid in her sister's wedding. Suddenly the past and present were coterminous; it was as though Lindsay had never died; the portrait achieved its purport: to preserve her beauty in perpetuity. No doubt, the likeness offers Ted, his relations and friends a certain degree of solace with every gaze. It sure did for me.

I also have a prized portrait in my home, one of my dearly departed dad that my mother, a portraitist (also deceased), had done in charcoal just after becoming engaged to my father. Although he passed in 2010 at nearly 87 after having lived a wonderful life, I still miss him, my best friend, tremendously, but the portrait proffers me peace. I have it hung a few feet away from where I sit at the helm of the dining room table so that he is forever by my side at meals (where he enjoyed being), forever present. We offer each other coterminous smiles that invite immortal memories, assuaging any pain on my part.

Just like death and taxes, art is a constant. Through his/her art, the artist achieves immortality and bequeaths the onlookers a piece of the eternal. If you have lost someone recently and are having trouble accepting the loss, a portrait of peace (even if it is just a favorite enlarged photo) may be just what you need. 

#word-to-words, #spilled thoughts, #vocabulary, #good advice, #personal essay, #vocabulary 

Allusion as Homage vs. Plagiarism

allusion - noun - an expression designed to call something to mind without mentioning it explicitly; indirect or passing reference.

homage - noun - special honor or respect shown publicly. 

plagiarism - noun - the practice of taking someone's own work or ideas and passing them off as one's own.

(Google)

The older I get on a daily basis, the more I question the current culture's ability to differentiate between right and wrong, morally and ethically. Currently as school curriculums (particularly those related to English) are being modified to suit the highly sensitive sensibilities of woke parents, some classic authors and originators are no longer being read or taught, which is dangerous, potentially unlawful. If the majority is clueless regarding the creations of the past, how can it discern the difference between allusion for the sake of clarification, allusion as homage, or downright plagiarism from an author who is perhaps knowledgeable? The answer is–you guessed it–it can't, opening up a whole can of worms.

Last night, I started to read Andrew Lipstein's novel The Last Resort, a new release focusing on the theme of plagiarism that the New York Times extolled as the "Editor's Pick." My book club, a collection of friends, fellow, former colleagues at the high school where I taught, chose it for the month of April as all of them had taught Andrew as a student. (Yes, he is the newly indoctrinated local hero.) No doubt since plagiarism is rife in all middle and high schools (sorry to disappoint), Andrew probably conceived of his fictive work's focus at that particular juncture in his life. On the first page of the book, the literary agent of the protagonist, an inchoate novelist, is wowed by his latest manuscript, yet in passing, inquires as to the plot of his client's next project. At that point, the protagonist (the first-person narrator) rattles off the premise of E.A. Poe's dark short story, "The Masque of the Red Death," and the agent, oblivious of the classic's storyline, accepts it at face value as an original idea. Obviously, Lipstein's intention is not to allude or pay homage to the writer Poe, but to foreshadow a future event in the plot that most likely will involve plagiarism. But how many of Lipstein's peers (those around the age of 27) would be aware initially of his purpose if they never read "The Masque of the Red Death"? In this case ignorance is just ignorance sans bliss since right from the get-go, the readers are missing out on the big idea.

An actual pronounced example from current reality involves the bestselling author Amor Towles and his recent release The Lincoln Highway, which was our book club's selection for January. My friend and colleague Candace who instructed Mark Twain's forever relevant The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn for years picked up on the fact that Towles "borrows" characters and scenes generously from Twain (a.k.a. Sam Clemens) throughout The Lincoln Highway. Another member of the group argued that perhaps Towles' intention was to play homage via allusion, yet most of us felt that Towles meant to bamboozle his readers by passing the concepts off as his own, which I found ironic since one of the main themes apparent in Huck Finn is gullibility. Our suspicions were confirmed after Candace had contacted the author via email, and in his response, all he could do was skirt the issue by asking her if she liked the book. You can fool some of the people some of the time, but you can't fool all of the people all of the time. Towles may just have to rethink his next idea for a novel if he is now worried about being accused of plagiarism. 

Some of you querulous types might be asking, But what about copyrighting? Doesn't the Library of Congress protect artistic works from being copied? Yes and no. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn has been in print for over a hundred years, meaning that it is now in the public domain, which opens up a few legitimate avenues for would-be thieves. What anyone in the arts who likes to "borrow" from others should do is come clean. Give credit where credit is due wherever and whenever possible. Although most walk the tightrope between right and wrong, stealing of anything is still a form of dishonesty and deemed unacceptable (although that may just change in the next decade or so). I'm just hoping people will seek to educate themselves so that they will be able to discern when they are being fooled into thinking an artist is a genius when he or she is really just a charlatan with little imagination. 

#spilledthoughts, #vocabulary, #wordtowords, #advice