Recently someone told me that they were God-fearing and wanted to get married in front of God. To clarify what I was hearing, I asked if what they meant to say was that they wanted/preferred to get married in a church. After all, if they believed in an omniscient, omnipresent God, anywhere they married, technically, would be in front of God… My early years were spent two doors down from a church and at a relatively early age, I attempted to combine reason with religion. My mother told me that God could see everything that I did. In my mind, he could see everything happening outside (there were no obstructions to his vision from above). However, I gave him the same limitations as humans when I decided he could not see through the roof. Thus, whenever I did something bad, I did it in the house using the roof as my cover (I was a merciless wall-writer). Reasoning didn’t just “happen” to spring forth from out of nowhere though. My mother and grandfather both were heavy Bible debaters amongst themselves or with people who would come over from time to time in order to discuss/debate the Bible. I even remember my mother being a champion in my eyes once when she debated a Jehovah’s Witness who came to the door with the ubiquitous Watchtower Magazine.
JW: Good afternoon, m’am. I’d like to talk to you today about Jehovah if you have time. Mother: Certainly, come in. JW: I’d first like to give you this copy of The Watchtower and discuss (current cover’s topic). Mother: I have no problems discussing (current cover’s topic) however, I will need you to make your case from this (big Bible sitting in the middle of the coffee table). JW: Well, m’am, Jehovah says blah, blah, blah (still reading from Watchtower) and it says right here that…. Mother: I understand you have your magazine, however, I read from this (big Bible sitting in the middle of the coffee table). Unless or until you can point to me where it says the same thing in THIS book, I will not be able to agree with what you are saying. JW: Thank you so much for your time m’am. Do you mind if I come back? Mother: No problem.
Needless to say, I don’t think that person or any others came back after that episode. Because there was so much debate going on while I was growing up, I do not debate religion with people. It’s like having a question that to the people answering, the answer is right to one person if he says yes and the answer is right to the other person if he says no. Knowing that, I tend to let religion happen around me. Ever so often, if I meet someone of an unfamiliar religion, I may ask questions. However, my typical approach is to let each person be. I’ve personally known people who come from Jewish, Muslim and Hindu backgrounds, learned about people who are Sikh and have read the names of countless other religions in passing (not sure I’ll ever meet a Zoroastrian or not). At times when I am with others from differing religious backgrounds, we just are. No debates.
Month: January 2013
On (My) Writing
I enjoy writing and someday plan to write a book – maybe. However, all writing is not my favorite. When I first started college immediately after high school, my teachers dissuaded me from trying to be the next WilliWear or Chanel so that I could use my other gift – writing. However, the directive to focus on writing didn’t come with any other instructions. As I attempted to narrow down the question of what are you going to do with your life, I was able to recognize my preferred writing style – subjective. I’ve picked up copies of The Wall Street Journal just so that I could read the human interest stories that are also featured on the front page (or at least they were). Once I finished reading the article, I would close the paper and put it away. My interest has always been in people and their subjective experience of life. Hard numbers hold an interest as well, but if I read about X number of people who suffer from ABC condition, my curiosity would lead me to want to know about an individual person’s experience of ABC condition. Knowing the number of people who share this condition is of secondary interest. Ultimately, my curiosity leads the way in many situations. Turning down random streets to see where it leads. Seeing people while out and wondering what kind of life they lead because of some random detail I noticed in passing. It’s all subjective. Yet, ever so often, when compelled or forced to, I can write something far more objective, filled with numbers and statistics. Just know that behind the numbers and statistics lies some subjective story along whose path I may have already meandered.
Cajun Chaos
Most people who know me, know that I am not a big fan of New Orleans. My first visit to the NO should have had me saying “hell no” to ever returning. Highlights from that first visit included going to a prominent drug dealer’s birthday party (we were told it was a house-party and technically it was) with a homicidal lunatic who later threatened to kill me, my friend and his male friends who were going to take us back to our hotel (according to homicidal lunatic, they were going to take us somewhere and rape us); barely escaping said high drama by attempting to leave with two women and a man (who was a New Orleans police officer – what was HE doing at the party?!); having homicidal lunatic being chauffeured to our hotel, sitting in the back seat of the police officer’s town car between me and my friend who were trying to escape him. Did you catch all of that? By virtue of the fact that I’m writing about this today, I was not killed (or maybe this is Blog Posts from the Other Side). Considering that misadventure to be an enormous one-off, a few months later, me and my friend were in New Orleans again. This time, I found myself standing on the sidewalk outside of a souvenir shop where I had purchased some souvenirs waiting for my friend to finish her purchase when a group of guys came walking up and proclaimed verbatim “bitch get the fuck out of my way.” Never mind that I wasn’t in the way. At that point, I figured that I had given the Big (Not) Easy enough attempts to welcome me with warm hospitality as opposed to brutality. Epic failure on its part. So, at the tender age of 19, I proclaimed that I would Never, EVER go to New Orleans again in this life nor any following lives. I didn’t even want to take a flight whose flight path would bring me over the state of New Orleans. There is something funny about making a declaration of never – sometimes there is an again. And in my case, again, again and again. Although to my credit, I waited another 19 years before the next again occurred. Yet again, the bad mojo returned. I was going to visit a friend I met in Luxembourg who was working at a law firm in New Orleans and was going to stay overnight and hang out in the French Quarter with a known person. Who doesn’t own a gun. And who would lead the way instead of commanding that I get out of the way. Yet, I found myself in the Quarter with someone who was compelled to get a beer at every place we passed. We ended up at a club in the middle of the afternoon that was jumping. After dancing for a few minutes, he got a table and four beers. I continued watching everyone dance from the side of the dancefloor. All of a sudden (that’s usually how things happen), I heard a loud PLIINNGG noise near me, looked down and saw that a glass bottle had been thrown right next to me and had broken. For a moment, my temper was about to get the best of me but then I remembered where I was. Instead of responding in the heat of the moment, I took a deep breath and used my foot to scoot the shards off to the side. However, a few minutes later, my ankle was itching. I reached down to scratch and first, felt moisture on my fingers and second, saw that the moisture was blood. Not good. When I informed my friend, he reached down and touched my open wound (who does that?!) and declared we couldn’t leave because he had not finished drinking his thousandth beer yet. We unfortunately went through a routing of are you done yet, no that had my head about to explode. In utter frustration, I finally left the club alone after having thrown the remainder of the last beer in the garbage with such birds-eye accuracy you would have thought I was a professional dart player instead of a near-sighted, non-athletic chick with non-existent hand-to-eye coordination. In anger, I walked straight back to the car although I had paid no attention to where we were going when we came because I was following him like a baby duck. After 19 years, I realized that the mojo had not changed at all. In spite of these horrendous experiences, I found myself two years later returning to New Orleans for a brief period of time because I booked a flight into New Orleans and then would drive to Florida. And that is when the mojo changed. I went to the more local part of the French Quarter and had the most laid-back, chill time ever. I was hanging out with a local resident who was responsible for my first sane experience in New Orleans and I greatly appreciated the reversal of fortune. I am now in New Orleans for a somewhat indefinite period of time and have had good experiences. I’ve returned to the French Quarter with the laid-back New Orleanian and again, nothing happened. I’ve been on the ferry at night (that thing moves pretty fast). I’ve meandered around some parts of the city during the day and have found my favorite local coffeeshop (I’m here right now). I’ve met normal, sane people – one even from Alabama. I’ve seen some neighborhoods that have allowed me to understand what makes people enjoy the beauty of New Orleans. In the grand scheme of things, I’ve now experienced a small part of the true New Orleans and it isn’t that bad. I’ve learned that not every rocky start leads to a rocky ending…
A Place in the Sun
In the past, nature has had its place in my life – outside. Little of my life had been lived outside as an adult, especially when I lived in Atlanta. In addition to being a city of hustle and bustle, there never seemed to be accessible places to go and “be one with nature”. After having lived in a different city for almost seven years with a city park “in my backyard”, I learned to appreciate and, more so, value my time outdoors as more than just the place I was in between being indoors and being in the car. One of the simplest rejuvenating activities is to spend time outdoors and just be. That’s it. Nothing more. Nothing less. However, in the past several months I’ve completely missed the simple pleasure of being outdoors – until recently. One day the weather where I am broke and I found myself A) at a coffee-shop and B ) sitting outside enjoying the warmth of my place in the sun. Originally, I sat with my back to the sun so that I could receive its energy on my back. Yet, after a few short minutes, it was feeling my face suffused with the sun’s warmth that really worked its magic. For several minutes, I just sat and absorbed the general feeling of well-being I derived from just sitting in the sun. In the midst of my stress and anxiety filled days, that was a good day. All because of my place in the sun. Tomorrow I repeat on a partly cloudy day. Hopefully the clouds will part…