Letters of a Voyage

“We are most true to ourselves when we are inconsistent" ~Oscar Wilde

Shockingly, enough people are weird. And more than that they are human, fallible, and fragile, I just think the world ought to know that. Or know that I know that.

I am mediating by nature. I really hate to see people upset with each other, especially when it is clearly a misunderstanding. I have been striking friendly peace-treaties between friends since about third grade. Apparently, I also listen well. It's weird, and I don't know where it comes from, but there it is. As a result, I've been put in the middle of what would be, were it not for my knowledge of the statement I opened  my post with, incredibly awkward. But they weren't and it made me realize things about human nature that I feel are worth writing about (also, did I mention that I haven't posted since august? I don't know how it got to be November, really).

I have a very interesting relationship with Christianity; think theology is very interesting so I have been attending a discussion group one of my friends runs called "Christian Faith and Doubt." More often the Token-Catholic (who is the co-leader of the group) and I (The Funky-Protestant-Turned Jew-Turned Quaker-Turned who really knows anymore) are diversity among six or seven main-line Protestant, Youth Group raised, but also very perceptive, very intelligent girls. This week's topic was about what it means to be a Christian.

Let's just say this is a divisive topic, way more than I expected. I came to the discussion hoping for answers, rather than with something to contribute. I am revisiting Christianity (it went out the window with my childhood church and my belief in a simple theology in about sixth grade) more  than I ever expected, and I am trying to figure out if Christian is something I want to call myself or can reasonably call myself.

(I am in the awkward position of really liking a lot about liberal Christianity, except that divinity of Christ part, which is a whole other post. In some ways I am a messianic Jew in reverse: they want Christ without the Christianity, and I want Christianity without Christ. This is a problem. I can't ask the Christians that I have been hanging out with (and by hanging out with I mean going to Taize services with) to be anything less than they are, which is fully Christian. But I also can't ask myself to be any more than I am which is not Christian.)

So the discussion moved towards the difference between someone who IS Christian and someone who IS NOT Christian, and there was, as could be expected differences about what is the tipping point between what is and what is not: The Trinity? So much for the Mormons, Rest on Sundays: So much for the Seventh-Day Adventists, The Golden Rule: Well, that's pretty universal. The particulars of the discussion are unimportant, but things were said and they heard as exclusionary, even if they weren't meant that way.

So at about 8:30 my mediating "C'mon guys this isn't worth killing each other over" instinct sent in and no one really intended to hurt anyone's feelings, so we got through it. But more than anything, the leaders of the group felt like they had behaved badly, and they had put me in a funny place by having to mediate (they don't know much of the theological stuff) and made it clear that they were apologetic. 

Maybe the leaders did behave badly, I don't think they did, but maybe they did. And maybe I should have been uncomfortable with the fact that I had to mediate a little, but I wasn't. And I really didn't mind being in the position I was, it was natural and normal and instinctual. The discussion is clearly a fraught one, but I don't think we should shy away from it because of that, or even more so for fear of making people uncomfortable. That's how we learn and grow, by being uncomfortable, by getting upset, by letting each other know that we are upset and dealing with it. By accidentally upsetting people, taking it with good graces, and dealing with that.  And by letting ourselves be the fallible, fragile, weird people we are.

I remain,
Georgie

"The American Revolution was a beginning, not a consummation.  ~Woodrow Wilson

No, incidentally, it's not the fourth. But I am working at a summer camp in the middle of the Appalachian Mountains and haven't had time to write as much as I would like. And it's still July, so I don't consider myself obscenely tardy.

I have probably already mentioned this, but I am working as a sailing counselor at a summer camp for two months. I went to this camp for seven years, and my mother was a camper for many many years, so campfire smoke and rhododendron are in my blood. This camp, as evidenced by out song book, must have been little-hippie central in the sixties and seventies. If there is an anti-war protest song it is in our song book. And after an only slightly painful rendition of”The Star-Spangled Banner," we sang every one of them on the Fourth of July.

And on that note, I'd like to point something out: The signing of the Declaration of Independence was the beginning of a war, not the end of one. It was the beginning, in fact, of a very long, very bloody, and at time both very cold and very hot. It was an awful, albeit arguably necessary, war that was incredibly expensive in both lives and funds for, not two, but four countries. There is not a song by Peter, Paul and Mary that can begin to describe it. And if we wanted a holiday that celebrated peace, love and unending happiness, there are a lot to choose from: October 19 the day Cornwallis surrendered at Yorktown or even September 3 the day the Treaty of Paris was signed.  January 14, November 25 are all dates associated with the end of the war, the beginning of the United States of American with the added bonus of being events Simon and Garfunkle would be willing to celebrate?

But they aren't the days we celebrate, and I think that is very significant.

It means that Independence was real for us (or for the US) before it was real abroad. We had convinced and united ourselves and that's what made independence real. There is no doubt that there was a war to fight; that we had to prove our Independence, but it also means that this "United We Stand/Divided We Fall" jazz has more gravity that just bumper sticker fodder. We celebrate Washington and Hancock and Jefferson on the 4th because they are obvious heroes. But without John Dickinson's (delegate from Pennsylvania, Quaker and wouldn't vote for action that would cause a war) absence or New York’s (had not yet received orders from the colonial legislature to vote aye) abstention there is nothing in the wide world Hancock, Adams, and Jefferson could have done towards a unanimous vote short of homicide (we may see murder, yet.) And by celebrating our Independence on the 4th of July rather than the 19th of October or the 3rd of September, we celebrate their actions to Independence, if not for it. (Note: John Dickinson will fight in the Continental Army and then write the Pennsylvania plan for the Constitutional Convention).

I think was our ability of ours to recognize Independence within ourselves, whether we supported it or not, that saved us much of the trouble that Latin America and Africa are seeing as they fight ongoing wars of independence. Although the war was bloody, costly, and one we were largely not prepared for, we were united, had a hierarchy and government in place. We "hung together" and were prepared for a victory. Independence already existed and that independence we celebrate on the Fourth.

However, it ought to be noted in the midst of the pomp and parade of the 4tht of July, that a war, several depending on who you asked, were fought to prove that Independence. And the plethora of dates I listed earlier indicates that Independence is not instantaneous.  Benjamin Rush, who is consistently one of my favorite Founding Fathers in the history of fathers founding things, wrote of independence as "The Republican experiment". Declaring Independence did not equate with Independence existing, which did not guarantee the survival of the union (as Jefferson Davis was so kind to demonstrate). And the survival of the nation thus far (233 years) does not guarantee our existence tomorrow or for eternity. (What have we got that the Mayans and the Romans didn't?)

The experiment is still playing out; every decade is a new trial with new variables and we are continually declaring our Independence.

I remain,
Georgie

"'Tis your thoughts that now must deck our kings...to which supply admit me Chorus to this history, who Prologue-like your humble patience prays..." ~Shakespeare, Henry V

It wasn't a perfect dress rehearsal, but they were the imperfections one hopes for in final dress, the ones that will ensure a smooth opening: droped lines, droped entrances, dropped scenes (I'm not sure if we ever found 1.11, but I think it turned up in the second act somewhere). None the less, I'd like to think the Bard would have been proud of us. It rained today, so the final dress rehearsal of our outdoor production of As You Like It happened on a bare stage, under fluorescent lights in a round theater. So much was it like the Globe, I was half expecting the ghost of Richard Burbage to appear and give us the Prologue to Henry V. I could have done a lot with a Muse of Fire that night. Granted I am a Shakespeare dork, but it was so cool to see the play as it was supposed to be: just people and words, words, words.

This week I have had approximately twenty pages to write and that show that I am stage managing. As a result I have been tired and grumpy and cynical and short. (I am, not usually like this. I am usually optimistic, have had at least 7 hours of sleep, and am 5'8", or at the very least can pretend) Living in the close sort of community I do, people are bound to notice this, and living in the wonderfully close sort of community I do, people are bound to comment on it with concern. So I am trying to figure out how to explain why I put myself through this, and by this I mean theater show weeks.

But people get bewildered when you say "yes, I am stressed and miserable but it is worth it." i am perfectly willing to own that this week has been more or less miserable. I've been tired, and frustrated, and borderline sick. The theatrical process is so unbelievably screwed up. It involves late nights last minute changes and being 85% sure the show is good and 15% in a state of sheer panic. Even the best director or stage manager who plans like crazy can't avoid the disasters that are bound to occur. It's inherent in the process. And what is a bit hard to explain in casual conversation is how much I love this process, and "love alters not when alterations finds." I have tried, believe me, to fight the process. I make checklists, I color code, and triple check pre-set lists and props plots. But I am still in the costume shop at 11pm hemming pants or up at 8am running lines with a panicky actor.

The finished product of a theatrical performance is a fragile, beautiful, and miraculous thing and I love that. I love it, "when the story is good, and the audience is listening." But really I am in it for the panic attacks at 5 minutes to places, and the hours of rehearsals in this case in wind and Minnesota afternoon sun. I like watching the play form and take place and even more than that, I love getting to shape it. And yes, it is worth a week on five hours of sleep and a B- in sociology, and it will always be worth it.

I remain,
Georgie

"Enthusiasm: a distemper of youth curable by small doses of repentance in connection with outward applications of experience"~ Ambrose Bierce

A bulletin today caught my eye today, because it presented an issue of activism that, I think, is rarely considered, especially by students.

I go to a small American liberal arts university, and they aren't hiding the fact that we are being trained to save the world. Convocation addresses fall in to two much related categories:  either "the human race is destroying the earth" and/or "you are going to save the world." And a lot of people have embraced that spirit. Thank goodness, because someone has to do it, and I doubt it is going to be me.

But this poster raised an important question: "Does student activism actually do any good (read: do senators actually read/ consider the letters written by nineteen year olds), or are we just rationalizing to make ourselves feel better?"

It is my humble opinion that although we are teenagers (or very recently teenagers) we are still human; we rationalize. And that is not necessarily a bad thing. The genocide in Darfur,  or issues of sexual violence in the Congo are  issues on a scale that we can not even imagine, never mind solve, but we have been raised to believe "that to those much is given much is expected." We know we've had life handed to us on a silver platter, and we want to do something in return. Even if letter to the Minnesota legislature will do nothing for rape victims in central Africa, it is a worthy spirit to foster.

It should not be discounted that many major revolutions (and Woodstock) in recent history have been driven by students. We have a unique perspective fostered by unquenchable optimism and homework to procrastinate (I should be studying for a French preposition test, as we speak) are capable of getting things done. If three students can get thirty-five couples to waltz spontaneously in a dinning hall because they sat down late one Sunday night, and propelled by a musing, said "wouldn't it be cool if...", imagine what they could do with a that same spirit, a little more direction, and some grant money. We are of an age, and live in a time, in which "ifs" can become "thens" more readily than we expect. 

But we also we are young. Many of us have seen more of the world than our grandparents at this same age, and as a result understand an incredible amount of international complexity. But we ought to be cautious before we impose on the world those ideals held with a force known only to twenty-something; the world is ours to shape but that does not exempt the possibility of screwing the whole thing up. The world is not our chemistry kit to experiment on with acknowledging the consequences on those we aim to aid. But we should not deprive the world of our vision and enthusiasm, when perhaps it needs it most, for fear of collapsing the international infrastructure or apocalypse.

I remain,
Georgie

 

 

“Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another, 'What! You too? I thought I was the only one” ~C.S. Lewis

So I have come to the conclusion that it is the people with whom we have life, not blood, in common that are our true families. Those who would go to the ends of the earth for us, knowing only that we would do the same for them.

I remain,
Georgie

“You can't always get what you want, but if you try sometimes, you might find, you get what you need" ~The Rolling Stones

I started this journal at the suggestion, nay dare, of a very good friend (Merry, I'm looking at you). She was leaving the country soon (by which I may or may not have meant months and months in the future at the time of the journal's inception, but it seemed all too soon.  Still does, actually) and this would be a good way to keep in touch. I had no idea what that journal was going to do, besides somehow bridge a eight time zone, two continent, and one large ocean sized gap.

Maybe I thought I'd start writing fiction again. This girl's been foisting x-files fanfic off on me since maybe the second day I'd known her, and more often then not they came in the form of links to livejournals. I'd always sort of wanted to be a fiction writer, I've made up stories in my head for when real life wasn't interesting enough since I was very little, probably since before I was old enough to realize the stories, real or otherwise, were all in my head. But fiction never really took, I never got the hang of “show, don’t tell.”

But despite the fact that fiction was, until recently, really the only way I understood non-academic writing, I keep accidentally telling people I am a writer, and it's because of this blooming' journal. (Merry? I'm still looking at you) I can tell people that I’m a history geek and once I rattle off enough random facts about the Founding Fathers they understand what I mean. I can tell people I am a ballet dancer, show them my feet, and they understand what I mean. I can tell people I am a thespian and after a detailed description and a “no, no, thespian…with a‘t’” they understand what I mean. But I tell them I’m a writer who doesn’t write stories and we are both a little lost.

Merry got it first, said it first, gave it a real name or at least a name more real than "someone who blathers about her life in hopes of saying something intelligent," in one of her early comments. And she called me an essayist.

But what exactly does it mean to be an essayist. The essay as we know was introduced by Michel de Montaigne in the 1500's. His work, published in a massive volume entitled Essaies, was characterized by a discursive style, a lively conversational tone, and the use of numerous quotations. Let’s see: discursive style? Check. Lively conversational style? Conversational, yes. I can't always promise lively. Use of numerous quotations? Check. Yep, definitely got that covered. He called his publication, and consequently his art, Essaies. From the French verb essayer, to try. An essay is a trying, an attempt, to explain something, to prove something, to make sense out of the world in which the essayist live.

Papers are what I write for school, essays are what I write here. It is astonishing how much these letters have helped me try to solidify and articulate how I see the world. It isn’t necessarily what I thought I wanted when I started this journal, but it’s what I needed.

 

I remain,

Georgie

"A million people can call the mountains a fictions, yet it need not trouble you to stand atop them" ~xkcd

General Gage hadn't seen anything yet. The state that clinched the election of the first minority President voted to limit marriage to union between a man and a woman. That's the world turned upside down.

I remain eternally baffled,
Georgie

"Past tense means you used to be nervous" ~ Anonymous (Once I read a quote credited  to Anon and spent ten minutes on wikipedia trying to figure out who he was) 

The boys on my floor, particularly the Flying Dutchmen, have made a habit of trying to scare the living daylights out of me, would probably scare the dead daylights out of me too, but they aren't that ambitious. This is a habit that they practice at any moment since they learned that I am a bit on the jumpy side.  Stepping through the steam of a recently put out fire to appearing horizontally around my door frame, if it will make me scream or dissolve into a fit of giggles they will do it. This of course embarrasses me to no end, because...well I like to think of myself as a strong and brave person, which I am in some cases, but this is not one of them.

I am jumpy because I am a ridiculously tense person. Merry is the only person I know who is more tense, and only because her body is on crusade to drive her up a wall. That and she watches more sci-fi than I do, so he brain rushes to worst case scenarios only slightly faster. Part of why I am so tense  is physcological. I am terrified of people, I don't know why... so hands off Freud, and it is the natural tendancy to tense up around things that scare you. Let's face it, I spend a lot of time around people. I associate relaxing with letting my guard down. It has only been of late that I can handle hugs, thanks to several really touchy friends and their sheer persistance, but before I couldn't tell the difference between a hug and an outright attack. The other half is physical, muscle memory. I have going on ten years of ballet teaching teaching me not to be relaxed. And yes, I understand the irony that you have to be relaxed to dance and that I dance to blow off steam, but as much as is about art and asthetics, ballet is about pain, and stretching, and fighting to make your body do something that it shouldn't be able to do,but you're a dancer so by sheer force of will and a little bit of theatrical magic, you'll do it. So on top of the fact that my muscles have largely forgotten how to relax,  I equate relaxing with giving up.

Being uptight is how I get things done. My former co-costume crew-chief has asked me innumerable times (read: at least once) to "go smoke some weed and mellow out." She was kidding, but she wasn't. I don't get stressed, but I get focused (that is to say, zen damnit) and then I am a not so relaxed force to be reckoned with.

So as the Flying Dutchman has started this crusade to get me to relax, I've thought a lot about why I do or do not relax. On the one hand I know that being able to relax would make me a  better dancer, a much better actor (and I quote the Actor's Neutral Expert of the TAWT acting workshop: Everyone holds tension in somewhere, Georgie just holds it everywhere), a more personable person, and generally less nervous. But at the same time, it's like the previously mentioned thorns, being uptight is so much a part of who I am I don't know if
I could bear to part with it.

I remain,
Georgie

"Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn't learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn't die; so, let us all be thankful." ~ Buddha

There will be a forthcoming letter on what a total box of wierd that college theater ( I know it's hell week, my analogies are falling apart at the seams), but for now:

I slept very little yesterday, I may not sleep today, I accidently slept though my first class and then didn't go to the last half to finish homework, I have a paper  and a half due tomorrow, I talked about shakedown, and I kind of want to curl up in a ball and cry, but then the house lights go down and the stage manager calls "places" and I remember why I do this: becasue it will always be worth it.

And there is something about theater people. Whether we mean or not, we have ingrained gratitude into our language. When time a time or places is called we say "Thank you...ten minutes"  to show that we heard them, when  a director thanks us for our work we don't say "you're welcome" we say "thank you" because we know we've been paid a compliment. And even when back stage must be quiet, even when we "are on standby, so you better shut up, darn it!," you can here thank you's whispered through the darkness, and through head sets, through significan glances and nods of the head. Because even when it is hell week ,and even when it's midnight , we are grateful to be doing what we are doing.

I remain,
Georgie