Great, I come back from Paris and it's Spring. Or almost, anyway.
The deer are stripping the bark from the lilacs I planted last summer, there is some kind of ugly growth on many of our tree branches, and the pond appears to have eaten the path.
We're also attempting to further reduce our consumer addiction, we have a lot of jeans that need recycled (not as jeans, possibly as fishing nets) and we've started planting seeds indoors already. So I'm going to be trying a lot of very strange ideas and I'll record what works (and what doesn't) here.
Thursday, March 27
Monday, February 18
Dublin
This is an excerpt from last year's journal that I've been pondering as I prepare to visit Nice and Paris. Feel free to ponder along.
We should have spent the week in Dublin.
The Guiness Warehouse understands its place in the city, and, tongue-in-cheek, makes you walk up a seven story sensory assault to stand elbow-to-elbow against the dilettantes who lounge disaffected in the only available seats.
Everywhere I can see evidence of the stinking, steady, loud, hard-working and laughing character that populates Joyce, Wilde, O'Casey. But the evidence is painted over, plastered behind new facings. It feels like the streets have become New Jersey debs covering their bad manners with makeup. Keep the bad manners, lose the makeup.
Oscar's statue is covered with colors as vibrant as even he could have wanted. He lounges, as Yeats said, "on the fairy-swept dew" of St. Stephen's Green. They loved you, they hated you. They paint you raucous colors and lay you out on a rock. What else could you have done for yourself?
The Abbey, dressed now in its modern coture but still the cauldron of Irish drama: intimate, inviting, and slyly slipping alternative ideas to this blue-collar town between pints.
Finally, before the train left, we found him. James leans on his cane and muses on the busy pedestrian section of O'Connell Street. And in front of him, separating traffic, the Spire (the Hypodermic, as the more polite Dubs call it.) What do you think of all this, James? Your country (still your country, for all you couldn't work here) has taken you back and trumpets your writing as its own. You are carved into the Guiness tower windows as though the chic crowds never exiled you. Ireland has been to war, avoided war, allowed tolerance and understanding in the back door, and embraced its place in the world with only slight reservations. But is it losing its power over artists and the innovation of their work? Is it becoming the jejune layabout you were so disgusted by? You loved the living city. You loved its wanting and its dirt. Tourists don't like dirt, James, and so the Dubs move on. Why do you think they set this gleaming phallus in front of you if not to deny the impotence of Eire in a world driven by technology and the tourist trade? But you didn't care for either. You cared for heart, for artistry, for inspiration. This city, this country always provided it. Until now. Now they chase the same power everyone else chases, and can't grasp it. They need you now more than ever, James, but once again I don't think they're listening to you.
Doesn't it break your heart, James? The way they never listen until it's too late? What do you think of this city now, James? What do you think of it all?
I asked him that. Do you know what he said?
He said, "Feck 'em."
Yah. Let's go home.
We should have spent the week in Dublin.
The Guiness Warehouse understands its place in the city, and, tongue-in-cheek, makes you walk up a seven story sensory assault to stand elbow-to-elbow against the dilettantes who lounge disaffected in the only available seats.
Everywhere I can see evidence of the stinking, steady, loud, hard-working and laughing character that populates Joyce, Wilde, O'Casey. But the evidence is painted over, plastered behind new facings. It feels like the streets have become New Jersey debs covering their bad manners with makeup. Keep the bad manners, lose the makeup.
Oscar's statue is covered with colors as vibrant as even he could have wanted. He lounges, as Yeats said, "on the fairy-swept dew" of St. Stephen's Green. They loved you, they hated you. They paint you raucous colors and lay you out on a rock. What else could you have done for yourself?
The Abbey, dressed now in its modern coture but still the cauldron of Irish drama: intimate, inviting, and slyly slipping alternative ideas to this blue-collar town between pints.
Finally, before the train left, we found him. James leans on his cane and muses on the busy pedestrian section of O'Connell Street. And in front of him, separating traffic, the Spire (the Hypodermic, as the more polite Dubs call it.) What do you think of all this, James? Your country (still your country, for all you couldn't work here) has taken you back and trumpets your writing as its own. You are carved into the Guiness tower windows as though the chic crowds never exiled you. Ireland has been to war, avoided war, allowed tolerance and understanding in the back door, and embraced its place in the world with only slight reservations. But is it losing its power over artists and the innovation of their work? Is it becoming the jejune layabout you were so disgusted by? You loved the living city. You loved its wanting and its dirt. Tourists don't like dirt, James, and so the Dubs move on. Why do you think they set this gleaming phallus in front of you if not to deny the impotence of Eire in a world driven by technology and the tourist trade? But you didn't care for either. You cared for heart, for artistry, for inspiration. This city, this country always provided it. Until now. Now they chase the same power everyone else chases, and can't grasp it. They need you now more than ever, James, but once again I don't think they're listening to you.
Doesn't it break your heart, James? The way they never listen until it's too late? What do you think of this city now, James? What do you think of it all?
I asked him that. Do you know what he said?
He said, "Feck 'em."
Yah. Let's go home.
Friday, February 15
Reincarnation & String Theory
So someone in one of my forums brought up reincarnation. I know people who believe in this, but to me it seems a very complex explanation for something very simple. On the other hand, I think string theory is an elegant description of the world, and it's damnably complex.
I could argue that the concept of reincarnation is tied to string theory. This branch of physics postulates that all matter AND all energy consists of immeasurably tiny, vibrating strings. The only difference between them is the way they vibrate. That connects with me because it speaks to something I understand on every level. OK, I'm going to geek out here. The quote is from Babylon 5:
"I will tell you a great secret, Captain. Perhaps the greatest of all time. The molecules that make up your body are the same as the molecules that make up this station, and the nebula outside, that burn inside the stars themselves. We are star stuff. We are the universe made manifest, trying to figure itself out. As we have both learned, sometimes the universe requires a change of perspective."
And it's true. Quantum physics also indicates that every tiniest particle of matter or energy, in its eternal dance, affects every other particle of matter or energy. One of the strangest principals of quantum physics is demonstrated by one of the simplest tests: if you observe light as it's directed at a kind of screen, the experiment shows that light is composed of particles. Quanta. If you perform the experiment again, but don't watch it as it runs, the results show waves. So the observer really does change the observed at a basic level.
So here's how this might work from a druidic perspective:
All things are interconnected. All things affect and are affected by all other things. Since this is the case, nothing new is created, nothing old is destroyed. All that is, has always been. The perception of time is a story we tell ourselves to make sense of the differences between things: then and now are simply positions from which we view existence.
It interests me that there is an emphasis in Druidry on sounds, because there is a satisfying connection here: perhaps reincarnation, ascendancy, or the achievement of Nirvana are all stories we tell ourselves to describe a distinct change in the vibration of certain strings.
Perhaps all we are really doing, as we die, is changing our song.
I could argue that the concept of reincarnation is tied to string theory. This branch of physics postulates that all matter AND all energy consists of immeasurably tiny, vibrating strings. The only difference between them is the way they vibrate. That connects with me because it speaks to something I understand on every level. OK, I'm going to geek out here. The quote is from Babylon 5:
"I will tell you a great secret, Captain. Perhaps the greatest of all time. The molecules that make up your body are the same as the molecules that make up this station, and the nebula outside, that burn inside the stars themselves. We are star stuff. We are the universe made manifest, trying to figure itself out. As we have both learned, sometimes the universe requires a change of perspective."
And it's true. Quantum physics also indicates that every tiniest particle of matter or energy, in its eternal dance, affects every other particle of matter or energy. One of the strangest principals of quantum physics is demonstrated by one of the simplest tests: if you observe light as it's directed at a kind of screen, the experiment shows that light is composed of particles. Quanta. If you perform the experiment again, but don't watch it as it runs, the results show waves. So the observer really does change the observed at a basic level.
So here's how this might work from a druidic perspective:
All things are interconnected. All things affect and are affected by all other things. Since this is the case, nothing new is created, nothing old is destroyed. All that is, has always been. The perception of time is a story we tell ourselves to make sense of the differences between things: then and now are simply positions from which we view existence.
It interests me that there is an emphasis in Druidry on sounds, because there is a satisfying connection here: perhaps reincarnation, ascendancy, or the achievement of Nirvana are all stories we tell ourselves to describe a distinct change in the vibration of certain strings.
Perhaps all we are really doing, as we die, is changing our song.
Thursday, February 14
Existentialists are wussies
You heard me, Sartre. Suck it up.
Looking out my library window onto an acre of flat white snow bounded by a swamp, I could argue that this environment is exactly the negative of Sartre's France in Nausea. The lack of stimulation in this scene throws every piece of sensory data into stark relief, making the sweep of a hawk's wing full of meaning and emotional response.
I understand and empathize with the narrator of Sartre's masterwork. The sheer horror at the discovery that flesh is empty, that the sensations of the world are forced upon one through these globulous, slimy, and grossly earthy senses-- this is not new to me. I cannot remember a time when I did not have moments of vertigo from simply being in my body. I understand the compulsive feeling that I cannot move a finger, swallow, or speak because any motion would solidify this prison. I get it. It's the terror of reality.
But there is more than terror to be found here. If you can become determined to experience the overwhelming feeling of moving your head--experience it to the full, experience the fear as fear-- you are identifying part of yourself with the universe around you. Be nauseous. Be afraid. Be disgusted. Be human. This sensation will be replaced by others. Experience them also. The trap of existentialism as practiced by so many is to neglect the experience of change by refusing to experience the change itself.
If when writing in a stream of conciousness way as though Faulkner was looking over your shoulder and sounds pour into your head impossibly loud though nothing is nearby you cannot grasp it, it slides away and the emptiness replaces it, yawning with its great red wet mouth velvet so that no sensation escapes, listen. Listen to the breath held for that moment and in letting your mind wander stop to examine where your mind has gone.
In other words, existentialism is great and allows a freedom we rarely experience to--well--experience things as they happen. But the unexamined life is not worth living. And if you go there, you might as well be nihilistic and give up.
So if you're feeling lost and alone in the sense-filled city, come out to a plain of white, where the white sky is interrupted by a single curve of brown. Then you can understand "alone" and rejoice in it.
Looking out my library window onto an acre of flat white snow bounded by a swamp, I could argue that this environment is exactly the negative of Sartre's France in Nausea. The lack of stimulation in this scene throws every piece of sensory data into stark relief, making the sweep of a hawk's wing full of meaning and emotional response.
I understand and empathize with the narrator of Sartre's masterwork. The sheer horror at the discovery that flesh is empty, that the sensations of the world are forced upon one through these globulous, slimy, and grossly earthy senses-- this is not new to me. I cannot remember a time when I did not have moments of vertigo from simply being in my body. I understand the compulsive feeling that I cannot move a finger, swallow, or speak because any motion would solidify this prison. I get it. It's the terror of reality.
But there is more than terror to be found here. If you can become determined to experience the overwhelming feeling of moving your head--experience it to the full, experience the fear as fear-- you are identifying part of yourself with the universe around you. Be nauseous. Be afraid. Be disgusted. Be human. This sensation will be replaced by others. Experience them also. The trap of existentialism as practiced by so many is to neglect the experience of change by refusing to experience the change itself.
If when writing in a stream of conciousness way as though Faulkner was looking over your shoulder and sounds pour into your head impossibly loud though nothing is nearby you cannot grasp it, it slides away and the emptiness replaces it, yawning with its great red wet mouth velvet so that no sensation escapes, listen. Listen to the breath held for that moment and in letting your mind wander stop to examine where your mind has gone.
In other words, existentialism is great and allows a freedom we rarely experience to--well--experience things as they happen. But the unexamined life is not worth living. And if you go there, you might as well be nihilistic and give up.
So if you're feeling lost and alone in the sense-filled city, come out to a plain of white, where the white sky is interrupted by a single curve of brown. Then you can understand "alone" and rejoice in it.
Thursday, December 20
WE ARE AMONG YOU
Ok, so personally I lean slightly in the direction of the Freedom From Religion Foundation when it comes to government property and keeping it clear of religious symbols and other trash. And WSJ writer Bill Weinke put it very well if graphically when he mentioned people sacrificing goats on the lawn. (By the way, very few of us do that anymore. At least unless the goat is very ill. Or looks tasty.) Dave Zweifel of the CapTimes has another clear arguement about why we separate church and state.
But this controversy over the Nativity Scene being the only symbol allowed to stay up at Green Bay City Hall is giving pagans a chance to be visible in a way that we rarely take advantage of.
(an email update from Circle Sanctuary indicates that the mayor of Green Bay, Joe Schmitt, is unwilling to further discuss including any religious symbols but the Christian ones.)
It's coming from all directions. A story on NPR, an article on About.com, and don't forget the political insights offered on the Wild Hunt Blog (if you want in-depth pagan analysis go here.) It's not like the discussion isn't already happening.
Many pagans (an anecdotal survey puts it as high as 70%) come from a different religious tradition, often Catholic or Evangelical Christian. They were raised to believe that someone else has the answers, and when they discovered the answers they were getting were wrong and damaging they were hurt. Add to that the tendency of most pagans to be fascinated with wandering around the woods by themselves, and you get a bunch of people who don't much need other people and don't trust them, either.
We're not well organized, is what I'm saying. We don't talk about our philosophy or religion much and we certainly don't proselytize. We might have a bumper sticker if we're militant. Rev. Selena Fox of Circle Sanctuary is about as much of a political activist pagan as I've ever seen, leading the fight in Green Bay and she was the major force behind getting the VA to allow military pagans to have the pentacle on their gravestones.
But as the sticker says, we have to come out of the broom closet sooner or later.
Here's the OpEd I sent to the local papers. Very few people in this town know about my pagan affiliation, so we'll see if I hear anything about it. And if you're out there, people, send some Awen my way for the holiday with family, ok?
Three lights to guide your feet: imagination, action and reflection
Random
We are physicians, business owners and police officers. We are neighbors, parents, sons and daughters. We believe in freedom of choice and individual responsibility. We are pagans, and we are among you.
A series of events-- a Wiccan Solstice wreath on City Hall in Green Bay vandalized, followed by the assertion from the Green Bay City Council (deciding vote from Mayor Jim Schmitt) that no symbol other than the Christian religion’s symbol can be set on City Hall property, followed by Schmitt’s refusal to discuss an “equitable policy” this year—violates the trust of those who value diversity in our communities.
When the Mayor invited other religious symbols, what did he have in mind? Perhaps if Rev. Selena Fox had raised a traditional Yule Tree, or hung mistletoe and holly branches (all symbols from long before the advent of Christianity) they would have been allowed to stay.
This controversy affects not only Green Bay but all cities in Wisconsin and in our region. As we seek to attract the best and brightest and to keep talented young people here, other communities pander to the squeakiest wheels. Please, Madisonians, don’t fall into the Green Bay mindset. Just because we’re not trying to convert you doesn’t mean we don’t exist. Thank you to those who really appreciate the diverse sphere in which we all can evolve.
But this controversy over the Nativity Scene being the only symbol allowed to stay up at Green Bay City Hall is giving pagans a chance to be visible in a way that we rarely take advantage of.
(an email update from Circle Sanctuary indicates that the mayor of Green Bay, Joe Schmitt, is unwilling to further discuss including any religious symbols but the Christian ones.)
It's coming from all directions. A story on NPR, an article on About.com, and don't forget the political insights offered on the Wild Hunt Blog (if you want in-depth pagan analysis go here.) It's not like the discussion isn't already happening.
Many pagans (an anecdotal survey puts it as high as 70%) come from a different religious tradition, often Catholic or Evangelical Christian. They were raised to believe that someone else has the answers, and when they discovered the answers they were getting were wrong and damaging they were hurt. Add to that the tendency of most pagans to be fascinated with wandering around the woods by themselves, and you get a bunch of people who don't much need other people and don't trust them, either.
We're not well organized, is what I'm saying. We don't talk about our philosophy or religion much and we certainly don't proselytize. We might have a bumper sticker if we're militant. Rev. Selena Fox of Circle Sanctuary is about as much of a political activist pagan as I've ever seen, leading the fight in Green Bay and she was the major force behind getting the VA to allow military pagans to have the pentacle on their gravestones.
But as the sticker says, we have to come out of the broom closet sooner or later.
Here's the OpEd I sent to the local papers. Very few people in this town know about my pagan affiliation, so we'll see if I hear anything about it. And if you're out there, people, send some Awen my way for the holiday with family, ok?
Three lights to guide your feet: imagination, action and reflection
Random
We are physicians, business owners and police officers. We are neighbors, parents, sons and daughters. We believe in freedom of choice and individual responsibility. We are pagans, and we are among you.
A series of events-- a Wiccan Solstice wreath on City Hall in Green Bay vandalized, followed by the assertion from the Green Bay City Council (deciding vote from Mayor Jim Schmitt) that no symbol other than the Christian religion’s symbol can be set on City Hall property, followed by Schmitt’s refusal to discuss an “equitable policy” this year—violates the trust of those who value diversity in our communities.
When the Mayor invited other religious symbols, what did he have in mind? Perhaps if Rev. Selena Fox had raised a traditional Yule Tree, or hung mistletoe and holly branches (all symbols from long before the advent of Christianity) they would have been allowed to stay.
This controversy affects not only Green Bay but all cities in Wisconsin and in our region. As we seek to attract the best and brightest and to keep talented young people here, other communities pander to the squeakiest wheels. Please, Madisonians, don’t fall into the Green Bay mindset. Just because we’re not trying to convert you doesn’t mean we don’t exist. Thank you to those who really appreciate the diverse sphere in which we all can evolve.
Friday, December 14
We're #14!
So one of the 6:00 news headlines on RTE1 (Irish radio)that the US and Canada are currently tied for the Avaaz "Fossil of the Year" award marking the nations doing the most to block climate change progress.
My first problem with this is that we're sharing the award. Come on, we can be more obstinate, backwards, and selfish than those hosers upstairs, right? Go, Team Bush! I mean, we're even behind them in greenhouse gas emission. Canada is ranked #12 for per capita greenhouse gas emissions in 2000, while the US comes in at #14. Now, I know all you SUV driving, jet-setting, forest-harvesters out there are doing your part. Be good little consumers and buy one more airline ticket, won't you? We can beat 'em! Then we can catch up to those Aussies (#9) and someday, if we work really really hard, beat out the beautiful, peaceful lands of the United Arab Emirates for #5 or better. (warning: the previous paragraph contains levels of sarcasm rated unhealthy by the USDA.)
My second problem was that I heard about this first on Irish radio. We see pix of Gore in the newspaper (page 3) pointing to the US delegation (we assume) and shaking his finger. We hear on NPR that the US is now playing nicey and that the European Union won't come to the Bush Administration's version of the climate-change sandbox unless the US commits to some real numbers. He'll make "substantial" cuts in emissions guidelines. (but won't substantiate them) and "negotiate a framework to seek a replacement" to maybe start to think about forming some groups to start talking about reducing the amount of crap we're throwing into the water and air.
No. Cut carbon emissions now. Enforce EPA standards and improve them. Now. We don't have any more time to screw around. And if it makes any difference, we're still worse polluters than the UK.
Monday, December 10
It's a Yule tree, dammit
Well, it is. Currently the WI state legislature is locked in a no-holds-barred debate about whether or not to call the big fir tree in the Capitol a Christmas Tree or a Holiday Tree. Leaving out the obvious fact that even a "Holiday tree" ignores Hannukah and Kwanzaa, the tradition is pagan. So there.
Check it out:
Yule, the midwinter festival of lights and sacrifice, is as old-time-religion as you get in Northern Europe.
The tree thing? Several different Pagan religions used trees at this time: Thor's oak, the burning of the Yule Log, and the now ubiqitous tree of lights.
Christmas ham? How about the boar ritually hunted and slaughtered at Freyr's feast?
That lovely red holly and bright white mistletoe? There are several mistletoe legends, but according to the longest-standing Druid tradition, the holly berries represent drops of menstrual blood. Guys, don't feel left out -- you get the mistletoe. Do I have to explain what THAT represents? Anyone feel oogy about standing beneath it and smooching?
How about the big fat guy with the presents? Well, there's a lot of evidence that St. Nick really is a Christian invention, but the older tradition of sneaking into the house and delivering presents to good children traces its origins in Norse stories of Odin, who may have been a power-hungry, vicious bastard, but at least he was fond of the kiddies. (Ok, comparitively there are worse bastards. Sorry, Asatru people. But most of you that I know wouldn't trust him as far as they could throw him, either.)
This is all to say that it's silly to squabble over the symbols you stole hundreds of years ago. It's better to really look into the origins of things and ponder the symbolism and how it changes from era to era and culture to culture. And Yuletide, when you get right down to it, has always been and is still about blood on the snow.
So imagine it's been winter now for 3 or 4 months, depending on your latitude. The apples have run out. Auntie froze to the shed last week. You're down to really salty slightly rotted meat and potatoes. (Ok, not potatoes, but you get the idea.) You've been cold to the bone since October.
What do you really want? THE SUN TO COME BACK! So you dance around to keep warm and wake it up. You shoot wrens, or slaughter boars (or people) and hope their warm blood will start something growing. (I never said pagans were nice.) You light things on fire to give the sun a damn hint about what it's supposed to be doing.
You're tired of soul-searching, tired of darkness, tired of cold, and there's still half a winter left.
Heck with it. Have a party.
It's always been in the nature of human beings to shout into the abyss for no better reason than to remind ourselves that we exist. So do it. Find the people you care about and give them stuff because you're glad they're still alive. Eat pigs together. Light things on fire. Just relax for an evening and believe that the twinkling lights really will bring the sun back because you say so. And quit fighting about the symbols and appreciate the sentiments.
Check it out:
Yule, the midwinter festival of lights and sacrifice, is as old-time-religion as you get in Northern Europe.
The tree thing? Several different Pagan religions used trees at this time: Thor's oak, the burning of the Yule Log, and the now ubiqitous tree of lights.
Christmas ham? How about the boar ritually hunted and slaughtered at Freyr's feast?
That lovely red holly and bright white mistletoe? There are several mistletoe legends, but according to the longest-standing Druid tradition, the holly berries represent drops of menstrual blood. Guys, don't feel left out -- you get the mistletoe. Do I have to explain what THAT represents? Anyone feel oogy about standing beneath it and smooching?
How about the big fat guy with the presents? Well, there's a lot of evidence that St. Nick really is a Christian invention, but the older tradition of sneaking into the house and delivering presents to good children traces its origins in Norse stories of Odin, who may have been a power-hungry, vicious bastard, but at least he was fond of the kiddies. (Ok, comparitively there are worse bastards. Sorry, Asatru people. But most of you that I know wouldn't trust him as far as they could throw him, either.)
This is all to say that it's silly to squabble over the symbols you stole hundreds of years ago. It's better to really look into the origins of things and ponder the symbolism and how it changes from era to era and culture to culture. And Yuletide, when you get right down to it, has always been and is still about blood on the snow.
So imagine it's been winter now for 3 or 4 months, depending on your latitude. The apples have run out. Auntie froze to the shed last week. You're down to really salty slightly rotted meat and potatoes. (Ok, not potatoes, but you get the idea.) You've been cold to the bone since October.
What do you really want? THE SUN TO COME BACK! So you dance around to keep warm and wake it up. You shoot wrens, or slaughter boars (or people) and hope their warm blood will start something growing. (I never said pagans were nice.) You light things on fire to give the sun a damn hint about what it's supposed to be doing.
You're tired of soul-searching, tired of darkness, tired of cold, and there's still half a winter left.
Heck with it. Have a party.
It's always been in the nature of human beings to shout into the abyss for no better reason than to remind ourselves that we exist. So do it. Find the people you care about and give them stuff because you're glad they're still alive. Eat pigs together. Light things on fire. Just relax for an evening and believe that the twinkling lights really will bring the sun back because you say so. And quit fighting about the symbols and appreciate the sentiments.
Tuesday, November 27
Life vs. Work
How many times do you say to your co-workers, "Go home. You work too hard." And they sigh, and roll their eyes, agree wholeheartedly and sit down to the computer again.
This is all about managing expectations, and I encourage everyone to be part of the generation making it clear that they expect to be left alone when on vacation. They expect to have time to themselves. They expect not to have to justify leaving work at 5:00pm on Friday!
Managers, especially in the nonprofit sector, need to help. We are all committed to making our world a little better, so build on that shared goal and encourage your employees' after-work activities. Tell them you appreciate their contribution to our community not just when they're working for you, but when they're coaching a kids' hockey team, mowing the elderly neighbors' lawn, and stage managing the local theatre production. Be flexible and look for opportunities to model limit-setting behavior.
If you can, read this month's copy of Madison Magazine. Rebecca Ryan's article "Getting a Life" touches on the loyalty an organization can create by appreciating the whole person, not just the wage slave. (You can find her whole book on the subject at Next Generation Consulting's website.
You can actually limit your involvement in your work, no matter what kind of work you do. Try it!
This is all about managing expectations, and I encourage everyone to be part of the generation making it clear that they expect to be left alone when on vacation. They expect to have time to themselves. They expect not to have to justify leaving work at 5:00pm on Friday!
Managers, especially in the nonprofit sector, need to help. We are all committed to making our world a little better, so build on that shared goal and encourage your employees' after-work activities. Tell them you appreciate their contribution to our community not just when they're working for you, but when they're coaching a kids' hockey team, mowing the elderly neighbors' lawn, and stage managing the local theatre production. Be flexible and look for opportunities to model limit-setting behavior.
If you can, read this month's copy of Madison Magazine. Rebecca Ryan's article "Getting a Life" touches on the loyalty an organization can create by appreciating the whole person, not just the wage slave. (You can find her whole book on the subject at Next Generation Consulting's website.
You can actually limit your involvement in your work, no matter what kind of work you do. Try it!
Monday, November 26
Addiction
I have a good friend (everyone should) whose life wandered parallel to mine for some years. We were founding members of the pagan group called Prism Circle in Colorado together. He was, and is, a bright-eyed, long-locked Pan on the outside, but internally his mind whirs away making connections, predictions and calculations. He's complex. He runs the numbers.
Every year at the end of October Samhain rolls around, the NeoPagan New Year. We spend some time ruminating on what has been and pondering what could be, and (if we're brave enough) we calculate the difference and get rid of the excess to make room for what we need. Permanently. No take-backs. It's scary, cutting bits out of your psyche. It's not done lightly.
Anyway. Back to this friend.
The first year we celebrated Samhain as a group, we all announced what we were giving up. Say it, mean it, make it real. I heard "smoking", "ten percent of my income," "my second car," and "self-pity," among other things. And then it was his turn.
"What do you leave behind?," the Fool asked him. "What do you cast away?"
"Fear," he said.
That year he started working with the theatre. He started singing again, acting, building sets. He lost weight, he gained friends.
The next year at Samhain, we were around the fire again. "What do you leave behind?"
"Taking my anger out on my spouse." "My anger towards my ex-husband." "The job I didn't get." And again, he said, "Fear."
That year he left the job that had been over-working him for years. He had no other means of support. He worked in his garden, he traveled. He fell in love, fell out of love, and volunteered with many local organizations.
I couldn't be with the group this year for Samhain, and I missed them. But while I was doing my own introspection, determining what I needed to leave behind, I heard his voice. "Fear." He said. Every year he gets a little closer, lets a little more of it go. Every year I like him better. What would you do if you weren't afraid?
Try it and see.
Every year at the end of October Samhain rolls around, the NeoPagan New Year. We spend some time ruminating on what has been and pondering what could be, and (if we're brave enough) we calculate the difference and get rid of the excess to make room for what we need. Permanently. No take-backs. It's scary, cutting bits out of your psyche. It's not done lightly.
Anyway. Back to this friend.
The first year we celebrated Samhain as a group, we all announced what we were giving up. Say it, mean it, make it real. I heard "smoking", "ten percent of my income," "my second car," and "self-pity," among other things. And then it was his turn.
"What do you leave behind?," the Fool asked him. "What do you cast away?"
"Fear," he said.
That year he started working with the theatre. He started singing again, acting, building sets. He lost weight, he gained friends.
The next year at Samhain, we were around the fire again. "What do you leave behind?"
"Taking my anger out on my spouse." "My anger towards my ex-husband." "The job I didn't get." And again, he said, "Fear."
That year he left the job that had been over-working him for years. He had no other means of support. He worked in his garden, he traveled. He fell in love, fell out of love, and volunteered with many local organizations.
I couldn't be with the group this year for Samhain, and I missed them. But while I was doing my own introspection, determining what I needed to leave behind, I heard his voice. "Fear." He said. Every year he gets a little closer, lets a little more of it go. Every year I like him better. What would you do if you weren't afraid?
Try it and see.
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